Chasing Methuselah
by Sandra E
Summary: [MirokuKagome] It's not enough she's flunking Geometry, no. Or that Inuyasha is about to choose Kikyou. No. Now she has to deal with the new class representative. Who, oddly enough, looks like a certain perverted monk.
1. Wicked

**Title**: Chasing Methuselah

**Author**: Sandra

**Spoilers**: Through _Episode_ _48_:_ I Want to Go Back to Where We Met_

**Rating**: R, eventually.

**Summary**: [Miroku/Kagome] It's not enough she's flunking Geometry, no. Or that Inuyasha is about to choose Kikyou. _No_. Now she has to deal with the new class representative. Who, oddly enough, looks like a certain perverted monk.

**Disclaimer**: So, the other day, I was having coffee. I'd bought it at school with my last three quarters. It wasn't very good coffee. Actually, I think it was tea. Now I have no quarters.

**Setting**: Tokyo, _present_. Sengoku Jidai, around _Episode_ _48_.

.

.

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**Prologue: _Something_** **_Wicked_** **_This_** **_Way_** **_Comes_**

_Destiny is not a matter of chance_, _it is a matter of choice_;

_it is not a thing to be waited for_, _it is a_ _thing_ _to_ _be_ achieved.

.

.

.

Gauss' theorema egregium needed to die a slow, painful death.

Preferably _before_ the geometry exam began.

Kagome bit a stray cuticle, and closed her book.

_Curvatures_. _Surfaces_. _Arc_ _lengths_. _Radii_. _Euclidean_ _spaces_.

Yes, Higurashi Kagome was absolutely certain.

Gauss was indeed _Naraku_ in a previous life. Had to be. Who else would inflict such pointless, heartless torture on countless generations of innocents?

Kagome whimpered.

Disheartened to realize she preferred Naraku to the Japanese education system, she fixed her attention on the door, which stubbornly remained closed. Loud chatter drifted in from the hallways; giggling, shouting, and the occasional fall of a thousand and two students. All of who, Kagome was certain, had done their homework.

Distant voices chortled merrily in the background, and Kagome pressed her face against the cool surface of the desk. Considering the teacher was late (forty-seven seconds and counting!), perhaps she had nothing to worry about. After all, it was only Geometry, and even though she'd sort of... failed... the last... two exams—

_Inuyasha_.

Inuyasha needed to come save her. He needed to barge into that classroom, holding the teacher at sword-point, and _demand_ she return with him to the Feudal Era, where her biggest problem was finding a hot spring (and, of course, Naraku, who... didn't seem quite as detrimental at the moment).

Kagome peeked at the doorway.

Nothing.

The door remained closed, the shiny new clock above the blackboard kept ticking away, and Kagome—well, Kagome gave up. Because, really, how bad could a little exam possibly be? She'd faced unimaginable horrors before and survived. Why, just last week, she'd witnessed a truly horrifying scene. Naraku, with his conflicting emotions—emotions!— and Kikyou, with the helping...

Kagome grimaced.

No. She wouldn't be bitter about it. If Inuyasha loved Kikyou, perhaps the soulless priestess could still find a way to redeem herself. And if she needed protection from that last, lingering part of Onigumo hiding within Naraku's heart, well, then—

Kagome would protect her, too.

Casting one last glance at the door (Where _are_ you, Inuyasha?), she sniffled. He wasn't coming. She was doomed to take this exam and fail and bring shame upon her respected family and—

"Kagome-chan!"

Kagome dropped her notebook. Yuka and Erri were hovering above her gleefully, their hands clasped behind their backs. The most studious of Kagome's three friends, Ayumi, merely waved from her desk distractedly, chewing on a pencil and flipping through a pile of notes.

"Are you ready?" asked Yuka cheerfully. "Are you? _Are_ _you_?"

Kagome gave them a sheepish look.

Erri plopped down in her chair, flushing. "Well... um, at least you're here, Kagome-chan," she smiled proudly. "That takes guts."

Yes. _Guts_, thought Kagome ominously. _And_ _stupidity_.

Yuka, on the other hand, remained cheerful. "Oh, don't worry, Kagome! As long as you've brushed up on your radicals and exponents, you should do great!"

Kagome offered her friend a weak smile, while internally, a new sense of panic overwhelmed her.

_Radicals_? _Exponents_? _In_ Geometry?

Suddenly feeling very calm, Kagome smiled sweetly. She was going to fail this exam—just like she'd failed to make Inuyasha love her more than Kikyou—but at least she would do so bravely.

_Why_ _fight_ _something_ _you_ _can't_ _change_?

"I'll be fine," she said pleasantly, realizing for an instant she actually meant it.

"Well, sit here if you like," Yuka chirped happily, "but _I'm_ going to go ask Kazuo-kun for help! Because... um, I don't understand one of the theorems and—"

"—and he's _really_ cute," giggled Erri.

Yuka blushed, smacked Erri upside the head, then winked happily at Kagome.

Kagome watched the girl practically skip away, bouncing between desks towards the back of the classroom, in search of this Kazuo-kun.

Kagome frowned. Kazuo-kun? There was no Kazuo-kun in Class 1B.

_Was_ _there_?

Sigh.

Had she really been absent this much? It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep track of normal stuff. Like, class monitors, class representatives, class time, class_mates_. There'd been a few new additions, she knew; a couple of boys who'd transferred from 1D in hopes of qualifying for the basketball team, and a few random students who were apparently in the 96th percentile.

Mmm, 96th percentile.

Kagome wondered, forcing herself to reopen her thick, mind-numbingly boring book, whether she would ever be in the 96th percentile again. It seemed slightly infeasible at the moment, what with all the time she spent saving the world and all. But really, it would've been nice. Having the respect of her classmates and her teachers and people who _weren't_ _living_ _five_ _hundred_ _years_ _in_ _the_ _past_.

Dreamily, Kagome sighed and glanced out of the window.

Remarkably, it was a rainy day, quite unbecoming spring. The air was thick with moisture, and the sky seemed weighed down, darkening beneath a massive onslaught of ashen clouds. Plump raindrops gently seeped through a window no one had bothered to close, and an odd, warm breeze slowly caressed her back.

Hmm. Sengoku Jidai was never this ordinary, this calm, this—

_Boring_.

Casting one last, wistful glance at the door, which unfortunately remained Inuyasha-free, Kagome straightened, ran a hand through her hair and focused her eyes on the blackboard.

Five more minutes. _If_ _the_ _teacher_ _doesn't_ _show_ _up_—

"Oh!" an excited voice reached her. Yuka. Cooing somewhere behind her.

A small smile curled Kagome's lips upwards.

"You're so smart, Kazuo-kun," continued Yuka hastily, tripping over the words.

Kagome raised a curious eyebrow. Fighting the urge to turn around, she grinned, picturing her fidgety friend swooning over some cute, clueless boy, who stood a decent chance of being related to Hojou-kun, if not by blood, then simply by man's worst enemy.

Hormones.

"You're a very good tutor," chirped Yuka sweetly. Kagome tried not to giggle. The boy was probably as good as gone. What was that maneuver she could never wrap her head around? Divide and conquer, then move on to the next pretty face with high marks?

As if she could do that after meeting Inuyasha.

Grinning, Kagome returned her attention to a particularly formidable radius, which seemed as evil as that wind witch, Kagura.

"It's my pleasure, I assure you, Yuka-san," came the smooth reply.

Kagome frowned slightly. _That_ _voice_—

"It's only a simple matter of properly applying the Riemann tensor to _v_ and _w_, respectively," the boy continued patiently, "which are, as I'm sure a beautiful girl such as yourself already knows, the orthonormal basis for this tangent space _right_ _here_."

As Yuka giggled delightedly, Kagome sat, frozen.

Apply _what_ to the _what_?

And more importantly, was this boy one of the 96th percentile students? If so, perhaps Yuka had the right idea. Kagome would need tutoring. It was painfully obvious that leafing through seven books two minutes after defeating a reptilian demon, while trying not to choke on Inuyasha's hair as he leapt from rock to rock, was simply. Not. Enough.

With a tiny groan, she attempted to concentrate. And ask for help.

A small stab of foreboding pricked at the back of her head. For a fleeting moment, she felt completely defenseless. The feeling intensified, burning deep behind her breastbone. There it was, that split second where she knew something big was bound to happen—watching Inuyasha embrace Kikyou, sensing a shard, falling into Kouga's arms.

A heavy feeling of dread settled around her suddenly, like a hand around her heart, crushing and warning and just _there_—some little shred of worry, possibly a premonition—

_Oh_, _for_ _heaven's_ _sake, Kagome_.

Her muscles tensed, and try as she might, she couldn't ward off this uneasy feeling of being lain bare. Though, as Kagome was bright and optimistic (and had had more than her daily allotment of sugar), she decided to grow a backbone and turn around, seeking out this Kazuo-kun.

Because, really, her behavior was bordering on ridiculous. What was so complicated about asking some random boy for help? After all, it wasn't like she was going to play with his fuzzy ears and then demand he save her from a centipede demon. A girl could only do that so many times.

Amused with herself, Kagome bit her lip and turned—

"Good morning!" said a cheerful voice as the classroom door quickly opened, then, just as quickly, slammed shut. "Are we ready for our exam?"

Mr. Makoto, a short, stout man with thick, square glasses, beamed at the class, a cup of coffee in one hand, and a manila folder in the other.

_Sigh_!

Students, in various stages of hostility, muttered several choice replies as they rose in greeting. Kagome was vaguely aware of Yuka speeding past her, tugging at her sleeve as she scampered back to her seat.

"Kagome, can I borrow your calculator?" she yelled over the eruption of thirty chairs scraping against the sparkling floor.

Distractedly, Kagome nodded in reply, a slight confused frown marring her face.

Huh. She could have sworn she'd heard a boy's voice.

"_Kagome_?" it seemed to have said, in a dazed, peculiar manner, but was promptly drowned out by the sound of its classmates' obligatory, "Ohayo, Mr. Makoto!"

Feeling oddly uneasy, Kagome slowly sat back down, obediently placing her textbook under the table and taking out a freshly sharpened pencil. The feeling of being watched wouldn't go away.

_Can't_ _turn_ _around now_. _Can't_. _It_ _might_ _be_ _misconstrued_ _as_ _cheating_ _and_—

Cautiously, Kagome tilted her head, twisting her body ever so slightly. The classroom was bright and large and full of students slumped over their desks with their heads lowered, awaiting the exam booklets. Involuntarily, her eyes kept searching, scanning the sea of familiar faces, dark heads, and darker uniforms.

And—

Oh, God.

For a moment, the briefest of slivers of time, Kagome was convinced she was seeing things. He was sitting there, the only student with his head raised, and he was _watching_ her, _only_ her, looking lost and bewildered and so very familiar.

Her eyes widened. A flicker of recognition flitted across his features and—

"Kagome-sama?" he mumbled, his posture stiff and his voice shaky. A collective murmur went through the classroom. Mr. Makoto paused, his hand freezing midair. An exam booklet dropped on Kagome's desk.

But Kagome wasn't paying attention.

Couldn't be. It just couldn't be him.

And then—

—he was out of his seat.

If she'd blinked, she would have missed it. He crossed the short distance in practically one step. Later, she would wonder if it was the eyes that gave him away—dark and blue and happy and slightly... terrified. A few stray wisps of black hair bounced against his forehead, falling across his long eyelashes. He was pale, but his cheeks were glowing a healthy, warm color. He was quite a sight, towering above her in his uniform.

Two things registered in her addled brain next.

One, he was tall.

And, two, he'd reached out for her with speed that made her eyes hurt.

Her world quickened its pace, rushing and spiraling and diving and plunging, and she couldn't tell if she was going up or down or sideways or—

Roughly, he grabbed her, strong arms pulling her out of her chair and close to his chest, long fingers wrapping around her. She felt like she had been swallowed by a giant, steel pillow and thought all her ribs would crack but he was clinging to her so desperately she dared not move.

"Kagome," he whispered into her hair. His arms slid up, hands cupping her face. His grip tightened, body molding to hers. "Kagome," he repeated incredulously, astonishment lacing his voice.

Okay. Um. Extract yourself politely, Kagome. Explain you don't know this escaped mental patient. Then, _run_. The entire school already thinks you're deranged. No need to add fuel to their—

"Higurashi! Yasuo!" shouted Mr. Makoto bewilderedly.

Kagome dared a peek.

The class was gaping, their eyes wide and deathly curious. Mr. Makoto, for his part, stood, glaring furiously, his precious coffee spilling onto the shiny floor. "Please stop making an obscene spectacle of yourselves, and take your lewd behavior into the hallway! _Immediately_!" he howled.

Burning with humiliation, Kagome awkwardly pried the boy's fingers off. Unable to meet his eyes, she quickly reached for her backpack, her chin quivering dangerously. Vaguely, she was aware of hushed whispers and an occasional giggle. She could feel Yuka's shocked gaze on her back; Ayumi's wild blinking; Erri's overly dramatic encouragement.

But most importantly, she could feel him follow her out.

She stalked outside, into the cool hallway, fuming. The door clicked closed behind them noiselessly.

Fine, then.

He—whoever he was—needed to die. A slow, painful, possibly excessively creative death. Unfortunately, as she was separated from her bow and arrow by a good, oh, five hundred years (and murder seemed to still be illegal in Tokyo), Kagome decided to scream at the idiot until his brain exploded.

Why couldn't every boy come with his own subduing necklace?

Balling up her fists, Kagome spun on her heel, opened her mouth angrily, and—

He was smiling sheepishly, leaning against a wall, and rubbing the back of his neck.

Inexplicably, Kagome's features softened.

"You _are_, uh, Kagome?" he asked meekly. "Higurashi Kagome?"

And with a quick step, he was once again close, holding her hands in a disturbingly familiar way. He pushed her right sleeve up, eyeing her wrist, fixating on a small, spherical scar. An arrow had nicked her there last month. But how did he—

"It's you," he said, relief washing over his face.

Kagome wanted to scream. This was so incredibly surreal. Stuff like this certainly didn't happen in boring, old Tokyo. Especially not during Geometry and—

Denial.

Yes. Denial would be her best friend for a while. She would ignore this weirdo, go home, jump into her precious well (which now seemed quite ordinary in comparison), and forget that there was a boy in her class who looked so much like—

Did he just poke her nose?

Kagome blinked wildly.

_What_ _the_—

"Kagome-sama," he said in a deep, low voice, as if he knew something she didn't. "You don't recognize me?"

She stared at him. He looked contemplative for a moment, a distant look in his eyes. Kagome watched him discreetly, wondering why she felt like crying. Something kept tugging at her heart, subconsciously and persistently. Something she needed to remember, to acknowledge, to realize.

Ugh.

Irately, she pushed him away. "I've never seen you before in my life," she ground out, refusing to deal with it.

Because... there was no way. No way. No. _Way_.

He was grinning, his profile dark and mysterious. "Well, no, not in this one," he said amicably, staring at his perfectly clean shoes.

Kagome's throat was dry.

"You're certain you don't know who I am?" he asked quietly, his expression unreadable.

Weakly, Kagome shook her head, slightly worried over the sudden mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Anxiously, she looked up at him, and—

What in God's name—

Agh! Her hip—his fingers—and—

"Miroku!" she screeched loudly, and automatically, her palm connected with his cheek. Hard.

Grinning, even though his face shone a bright crimson, the boy removed his hand from Kagome's behind.

Oh.

Oh, God.

"It's been a while," he said happily, keeping his distance. "I forgot how hard you hit."

She could feel it now. A low thrum deep in the pit of her stomach.

"Sorry," she mumbled sheepishly, flushing. She looked at her palm, which now stung from the force of her slap, then averted her gaze to his face.

Slowly, her lips formed a surprised _oh_. "Miroku-sama?" she mumbled experimentally.

A pounding ache deep within her chest reminded her of how odd she was behaving. What was wrong with her? Hadn't she seen crazier things on a daily basis? Hadn't it become a tradition? She should have protested and laughed it off. If this was truly _Miroku_—her compassionate, perverted friend—why was she so flustered? She'd seen him just yesterday, for heaven's sake, rubbing Sango's—

"Kagome, stranger things have happened—and you've certainly been witness to them," he said as if he was reading her mind. "And I know for a fact you believe in reincarnation."

A tiny, satisfied smile graced his lips.

Kagome looked up at him, feeling dizzy. "But you remember—you remember everything?"

_How_? _Why_?

He nodded. "Most of it," he shrugged, his gaze slipping lower. She thought she heard him add, "Unfortunately," under his breath, but—

Oh, no.

_No_.

She watched him, brows furrowed purposefully.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

—and then it happened. Abruptly, unexpectedly, her defenses came down, allowing her to finally acknowledge something she would have rather ignored forever.

For Miroku to be reincarnated, he had to have...

Died.

Miroku died.

She wanted to ask how, when, why, hoping all the while he'd lived to be ninety-six, happy and surrounded by children and grandchildren and all the little things he deserved.

Somehow, she doubted he had.

In an impressive instant, she'd thrown her hands around his neck, trying not to cry into his chest. Initially, he'd stiffened, but slowly, gently, brought his arms to her shoulders, lightly pushing her away. "Don't assume the worst, Kagome-sama," he said softly.

She watched him intently. He was—he was different. His eyes, the way he was looking at her. It wasn't right; didn't feel quite as familiar.

Actually, this Miroku was a little too friendly. Too affectionate. Too puzzling.

"Kagome-sama," he began cautiously, "I don't mean to sound insensitive or ill-mannered, but may I ask you a question?"

Blinking away tears, Kagome grinned happily.

Okay. Perhaps he hadn't changed.

Yay.

"Miroku, technically, it's been five hundred years. Don't tell me you haven't gotten anyone to bear you a child yet."

He looked at her, surprised. He shot a quick glance at his hand, which, Kagome noted with an overwhelming sense of relief, was free of his patented protective beads, and more importantly—

Kazaana. _Gone_. It was gone. Completely. No trace of it whatsoever. She would have pounced and congratulated him, but—

He seemed lost in thought, mulling her words over, then smiled. "Children?" he replied as she untangled herself from him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Kagome-sama," he muttered cryptically.

Her eyes narrowed. What? What was this suspicious feeling in her chest? What did Miroku know that she didn't?

"Tell me," she heard herself whisper.

He watched her for a moment, eyes dark, looking torn. "I can't."

Kagome met his eyes.

Gah. What was that... thing, in physics and... agh! She really should have been paying more attention. Think. _Think_. Mind map: paradox. Something to do with a paradox. Try to remember. Family. Mama, Souta, Gran—

—_Grandfather_ _Paradox_.

Looking up quickly, mind working frantically, Kagome watched the emotions play across his face.

He knew.

He knew everything. Which meant, she _shouldn't_. Because if he knew, if he truly remembered everything and _told_ _her_, she'd be a calculated risk. If she knew, she could change the future... erm, actually, change _the_ _past_... which was still technically her future and—

Headache.

"Kagome," his voice interrupted her mental pilgrimage to Aspirin Land.

If she knew, if she had the power to change all the bad—

Frustrated, Kagome clenched her fists. Her own words echoed in her head. _Why_ _fight_ _something_ _you_ _can't_ _change_?

The Miroku she knew would never tell her. He wouldn't risk it. He would never—

"Can you answer my question, please?" he asked, suddenly by her side again.

"I'm sorry," she flushed. "What was the question?"

Patiently, he smiled. "What color panties are you wearing?"

Flushing to the tips of her ears, Kagome swung blindly at him.

He put up his hands in surrender as he ducked. "Of course, I was only trying to see if I had your full attention," he grinned, then grew serious as she seethed.

"I need to know how long you've been in the Feudal Era," he explained soberly. "If it hasn't been that long, perhaps... we shouldn't even be talking right now."

Kagome squirmed helplessly. This was becoming too complicated. But she understood. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of telling her something vital that hadn't happened for her yet.

For a moment, she was tempted to lie. To tell him the Shikon Jewel was completed and the adventure was over, just so he would relax and tell her. It was the same temptation that drove her to skip to the last page of a really good book because she wanted to—needed to—know how it ended.

"The jewel is—" she began, then caught him watching her stubbornly. "We're searching for the last few shards," she continued candidly. "And lately, Inuyasha's been having trouble with the Tetsusaiga. Toutousai thinks it's because his fang is inferior to his father's."

Miroku nodded, motioning silently towards the school entranceway, which was hiding beyond the barren, echoing lobby. The hallway was long and narrow and completely empty. Kagome had trouble trying to remember she was _at_ _school_. With Miroku. In her own time.

They began walking toward the huge, glass entrance, side by side.

"Sesshoumaru had Toukjin made, and Kagura and Kanna are giving us trou—"

Miroku suddenly stopped.

Kagome paused, watching him curiously.

"Kagome-sama, not to intrude more than I already have—" He seemed extremely uncomfortable, struggling to find the right words.

The uneasy feeling within her chest grew slightly.

"Have you—" he mumbled, pausing cautiously. Then, with an air of determination, he straightened his back and asked, "Has Inuyasha promised himself to Kikyou yet?"

Well.

That was certainly blunt.

"Yes," she replied calmly. Because it didn't matter. She loved Inuyasha. She would be by his side forever. She knew that much.

And Miroku—

Miroku was smiling.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, hands on hips.

"I can't tell you," he said, grinning impishly.

_Ooh! __Frustrating, __evil __man!_

She was about to hit him again when—

A blur of black sped past them, papers flying everywhere. Hojou-kun. For a moment, Kagome was certain (and very grateful) he hadn't seen them. But then, the boy skidded to a halt, turned, and jogged back towards them.

"Kagome-san!" he said pleasantly, his little dimples deepening with his goofy smile. "Where are you going? Don't we have a Geometry exam—for which I'm... slightly late—today?"

Kagome whimpered. "We were sent out into the hallway."

Hojou blinked. And then blinked some more. "Why would anyone send you out, Kagome? Especially in your condition?" he bristled.

Kagome reddened.

Miroku cocked an amused eyebrow. "Condition?" he asked casually.

Hojou-kun, who apparently hadn't noticed Miroku until now, smiled helpfully. "Oh, yes," he said, turning his attention to Kagome again, "your grandfather told me all about the small pox—"

"SMALL POX?" Kagome huffed furiously. "Small pox?" she repeated incredulously, looking at Miroku for sympathy. "I'd be dead by now, if I had small pox!" she rambled, humiliated.

Miroku was obviously trying to bite back a grin, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

Huh. _He_ _catches_ _on_ _fast_, _doesn't_ _he_?

"But," said Hojou, rubbing his eyebrow innocently, "your grandfather—he said that's why you were absent all last week. But I must say, you're very strong, Kagome, to stand here today, looking as if nothing's wrong! Especially after suffering from that nasty pneumonia and the—the plague last month."

Kagome groaned.

_That's_ _it_. _Grandpa's_ _going_ _down_.

Placing a hand on Miroku's elbow (so to prevent herself from murdering Hojou as Grandpa was on the other side of the city and was therefore somewhat unattainable), she smiled sheepishly. "Yes, well, thank you, Hojou-kun. You should... go take that exam."

Hojou smiled sweetly. "But... why aren't you taking it? I really don't understand why Mr. Makoto would send you out into the hallway."

"Oh... you'll hear all about it, I'm sure," said Miroku smugly before Kagome had a chance to cover his mouth.

That jerk! He was actually enjoying this, wasn't he?

Hojou watched them suspiciously. "And where are you two going?"

"Oh," said Kagome, grateful to have a legitimate excuse. "Miroku-sama and I will just walk home a little earlier since it seems kinda pointless to stay."

Miroku grinned that annoying smile that seemed to have been subtly saying, 'You silly little girl.'

"Miroku-sama?" asked Hojou, baffled. "Who's this Miroku-sama? And—" he glanced at them, scowling, "I didn't know you and Yasuo were... close."

Kagome glanced at her arm, which, at the moment, rested comfortably on Miroku's.

_Oh_, _sweet_ _mother_ _of_ _all_ _that_ _is_ _pure_ _and_ _holy_.

Kagome! He wasn't Miroku here! He was—

"Kazuo. She meant Kazuo," Miroku said airily. "The small pox has affected her brain, you see."

Inconspicuously, Kagome stepped on his foot.

Miroku added, thin-lipped, "But apparently, her legs work just fine." And with that, he dragged her away, out into the rainy schoolyard, leaving a very confused Hojou staring at their retreating backs.

"That was certainly uncalled for," she grumbled, swatting his hand away.

He grinned playfully, digging through his backpack. "But fun nonetheless."

They paused as Miroku searched, biting his lip in concentration. "Aha!" he said victoriously, pulling out a dark umbrella.

Kagome clapped her hands happily.

He offered her his hand, and, feeling strangely giddy, she accepted. And as she was linking her arm with his, stepping underneath his umbrella, she considered the situation.

Having a friend here, someone from the Feudal Era, who'd seen everything she'd seen, who'd been through it as well, who didn't think she was _flippin'_ _crazy_—

It didn't sound so bad. She would just need to learn how to differentiate between the two worlds. How hard could it possibly be?

"So... Yasuo Kazuo?" she grinned.

He flushed. "My parents are... odd. And occasionally cruel."

She watched him, his profile warm and peaceful.

"It fits," she said simply, as he held out the umbrella while she jumped over a puddle. She smiled gratefully, trying not to notice the raindrops that were sliding down his cheeks.

They walked in silence for a while, awkwardly glancing at the trees, which seemed to have been bending their heads in thought, so to avoid having to look at each other. _Why_? Why did this feel so—

"I should have checked the student logs," he said suddenly.

Kagome looked up.

"Since I only transferred two weeks ago, I haven't had the 'privilege' of staying after class. None of my duties thus far involved attendance records," he added brightly. Then, he grinned. "Though, I suppose it's best I hadn't known." The mysterious little smirk was back, playing about his lips. "Quite a coincidence, right?"

Kagome was silent. What was wrong with her? This was Miroku. _Miroku_. The lecherous monk. Except, he wasn't a monk anymore and he wasn't—

Okay, so, he was still kinda lecherous.

But, he'd had, what? Sixteen, seventeen years here, of which she knew nothing about. Apparently, he had parents, he had plans, and he was—he was living a normal life. For a moment, Kagome was envious.

And then, guiltily, she remembered he deserved it.

"So," he continued lightheartedly, "you're that crazy girl I'm supposed to watch out for."

Kagome frowned menacingly.

"The one that jumps up during class, shouting gibberish about demons?" he grinned. "They warned me about you, you know."

So.

Yuka was next on Kagome's list, right after Grandpa.

"Did they now?" she grumbled, kicking at a pebble.

He shook the umbrella purposefully, splashing her with cold water and smiling very pleasantly. "You should thank me, Kagome-sama."

"What for?" she hesitated, wiping at her cheeks. She couldn't help it. She had to do it. Her tongue darted out, tasting the rain on her skin.

Too late did she notice the warm, hungry look in Miroku's eyes.

"...for getting you out of that geometry exam," he mumbled, eyeing her lips. "If I recall correctly, you hate Geometry."

Kagome grinned. He was right. He did save her from that evil test.

And then, gradually, Kagome's shoulders slumped.

Wasn't saving her usually Inuyasha's responsibility?

Inuyasha's _obligation_.

With a sigh, she turned away from Miroku, and motioned vaguely toward an avenue.

"That's my street," she lied uncomfortably. Somehow, she wasn't in a hurry to say goodbye and go back to Sengoku Jidai. Especially not if it meant seeing Kikyou and Inuyasha—

"Let me buy you tea?" Miroku asked quickly.

She stared at him awkwardly.

What was he doing?

Uh. Kagome.

_It's_ _just_ _tea_. _And it's_ _just_ _Miroku_.

Misinterpreting her silence, Miroku smiled an adorable, sheepish smile. "I would have said ice cream, but it's—raining. And... uh, forget tea. Would you like some ice cream?"

"Yes, please," she found herself saying, tugging at his sleeve.

He grinned with satisfaction (and what _was_ that smug smirk about?), reaching for her hand again. "Of course," he said nonchalantly, "if people see me with you, they're going to assume I'm a weirdo, too."

Kagome kicked him violently.

"That hurt!" he grumbled, then grinned wickedly. "Do it again."

Kagome choked, turning scarlet.

And then, slowly but surely, a single thought entered her mind.

Miroku. Raised on _Baywatch_ and _Playboy_ and teen magazines.

And even as they walked alongside each other in companionable silence, she knew, with absolute, undeniable certainty, that _yes_—

She was utterly, definitely, unquestionably doomed.


	2. Lesson

**Author's Notes**: Extremely short interlude ahoy. Interlude, as in, smutty mini-chapter that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with this particular plot, but... um, that last chapter of _Oddity_ left Miroku a little... frustrated. And Miroku is scary when he's frustrated.

Also, _yay_. Inuyasha has labeled you all dirty traitors, but _I_ love you. Thanks for reviewing so enthusiastically.

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**Interlude: _Lesson, the First._**

_Bad habits are like a comfortable bed_:_ easy to get into, but hard to get out of_.

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Tokyo, _1997_.

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She felt so dirty.

And it was all his fault.

He'd been waiting for her, uh huh. Lurking in the shadows, pointing wickedly at his shiny little wristwatch and flashing her that ominously hungry grin.

She should have known better.

She should have said no.

She should have taken one look at his handsome, tanned face and—

"Just this one time," he'd pouted pleadingly, arranging his features into an innocent expression.

And she'd fallen for it.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

So, now, barely an hour later, Higurashi Kagome was just... sitting there, on a park bench, stunned.

She couldn't believe it.

Couldn't believe he'd made her do... _that_. Ew. Ew. EW!

She should've known better.

Really. It was... it was just too big.

Why? _Why_ in God's name did she try to take it all in? Unprepared? Out in public? With—with... him?

Kagome glanced to her left.

Miroku was sitting next to her and grinning quite smugly, his blue eyes glazing over as he stared off into the distance, a satiated smile curling his lips. Kagome whimpered.

Why, a thousand times _why_?

"You liked it, and you know it," he smirked, not looking at her. He stretched his long legs lazily. Kagome whimpered again.

He was right.

She _had_ liked it.

It'd felt _so_ _good_. So incredibly, unbelievably, _excruciatingly_ good.

She knew it was wrong. Wrong and dangerous. Everyone said so. But... but...

She wanted more.

"Miroku," she began shyly. "Next time..."

Miroku turned his head slowly, staring at her curiously.

"Next time," she continued, "please tell me to slow down, okay?"

Miroku grinned wickedly. "Certainly, Kagome-san."

"And... um," she coughed uncomfortably. "Zip up your pants, please?"

Miroku laughed, his fingers reaching down as Kagome blushed. An old man passed by them, scowling.

"Disgusting," he grumbled, tugging at his dog's leash.

Kagome flushed horribly.

Oh, no.

She'd completely forgotten, overlooked—_ignored_—the potential consequences. Gaining a few extra kilograms was the least of them.

Kagome squirmed, suddenly nauseous. Oh, no! It'd started already!

Shakily, she glanced at her fingers. They were still sticky.

For a moment, she was tempted to just lick them, but that seemed even more inappropriate.

With a quick, covert glance back at Miroku, she frowned petulantly.

Why, _his_ fingers weren't sticky at all. He must be really... experienced with this.

Obviously, his enviable proficiency was another indication that _this_ Miroku had been raised in modern-day Tokyo.

Kagome sighed.

Even though she'd grown up here, surrounded by all that evil temptation, she hadn't really...

Well, that is to say—

Sigh.

She'd been prepared for it to be a messy experience, but this... this was just...

She needed a shower. Yes. A long, cleansing shower. A nice literal and figurative catharsis. Water washed everything away, right? Even atrocities such as this particular one. Yes. Good. She would do that. She would—

The scent, rich and thick, still hung in the air, and a flash of worry suddenly rushed through Kagome.

The scent stuck to her skin and her clothes, and everyone would notice. Everyone would know. Everyone would—

"Kagome," came his soft voice, deeply amused. "You should have told me you weren't ready."

Kagome winced apologetically. "I'm sorry. I just didn't think it would be... that... that..."

"Big?" Miroku raised a smug eyebrow.

_Must_..._not_..._kill_..._him_.

"You look a little too happy about this," she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Perhaps because I am," he said happily, stretching again. "We should have done this a lifetime ago." He glanced at her, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "In fact, I think we should do it again tomorrow."

God, but she really wanted to do it again tomorrow.

"I can't. I have to go back. I promised Shippou-chan," she said uneasily, wondering all the while if that evil ex-monk had gotten her addicted.

She looked at her slippery fingers, then at his still unbuckled belt.

_Desire_ _to_ _repeat offense_... NOT _abating_.

Bastard.

He _did_ get her addicted.

Miroku ignored her burgeoning hysterics. "Only tomorrow, I want us to slow down," he grinned mischievously. "Well, you more so than me."

Kagome whimpered sheepishly, a few strategically placed pink spots appearing on her cheeks. "Um. I'll try, Miroku-sama."

"I understand that it feels good, and it's probably rather difficult for you—_especially_ _you_—to control yourself around me—_especially_ _me_—"

Kagome growled. "Hey—"

"—but I think we'd both enjoy it more if you, well... talked less during—"

"What!" she screeched, curiously reinvigorated. "You were the one that wouldn't shut up!"

Miroku merely smirked. "I was faking it."

Kagome fumed, balling up her little fists. "You were NOT faking it. I _can_ tell the difference, you know!"

An elderly couple walked by slowly, their raggedy canes rattling as they scowled nastily at Kagome. Kagome sank back onto the wooden bench.

She was doomed. If this got back to her mother—

Mama wouldn't be angry, no. But she _would_ be disappointed, and Kagome certainly wasn't looking forward to another lecture.

How? How did this happen? It'd been only a week—one measly week—since she'd discovered Miroku's reincarnation, and she'd spent _half_ of that time in Sengoku Jidai.

So, how did he STILL manage to get her kicked out of class and now... now... _this_?

"I'm going home," she huffed, standing up.

Miroku simply licked his fingers. "Don't forget to tell Inuyasha how good it was!" he shouted after her naughtily, his laughter startling her into a shocked silence.

With a strangled cry, Kagome stomped away.

That was _it_.

She'd never, ever, do that again. Ever.

No matter how much he begged and pleaded and looked at her with those gorgeous—

No!

Never! He would never get her to repeat this horrible offense.

Higurashi Kagome was determined.

She would _never_ eat a Wacdonalds Triple Cheeseburger again.

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[You perverts. Miroku is very proud of you. ]


	3. Waiting

**Author's** **Notes**: A serious chapter. Gasp! Technically, this _is_ supposed to be a serious story. But... I have sugar.

_Jay_: Cancer? Um, no. Miroku doesn't have cancer. But he has a goldfish. He forgets to feed it sometimes. Actually, I think it died last week. But not from cancer.

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**Chapter One: _Waiting_**

_We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned,_

_so as to have the life that is waiting for us—E.M. Forster_

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_Kyoto, Sengoku_ _Jidai_, _circa_ _1542_

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She was doing it again.

Watching him.

He could _feel_ her walking quietly behind him, looking at his back like he was about to drop dead or something. It was disconcerting. It was unusual. It was—

Intriguing.

Pensively, Miroku slowed his step, watching the rest of the small group walk ahead. Inuyasha was trudging through the tall, glistening grass with his patented scowl, while Shippou, half-asleep, dangled from the hanyou's tattered sleeve. Sango, her hips swaying innocently, lagged behind the two, hiding an occasional yawn.

Miroku grinned wistfully.

He really did love that outfit, what with its curves and the—

"Miroku-sama?" came a small voice.

Kagome had finally caught up to him.

Miroku gave her a friendly smile, noting, with no small amount of discomfort, the glare Inuyasha had tossed him over his shoulder.

"Is something the matter, Kagome-sama?" Miroku asked quietly. Frankly, he'd been tiptoeing around Kagome for the past few weeks, ever since—

"No," she said, apparently content to walk by his side in silence.

Miroku frowned. She'd been doing that a lot lately, too.

"I was just thinking," she said uncomfortably, twisting her fingers as they walked. "Maybe you should drink less of your... um, special tea."

Miroku blinked.

What?

"Because, well, you only have one liver," she mumbled restlessly, glancing up at him through thick, dark eyelashes.

"Kag—"

"And, you know, it's a very important organ. You can't live without your liver."

Miroku watched her bewilderedly.

_She's doing it again_.

Miroku wondered, forcing himself to look away from her soft, worried features, why she seemed so concerned about him lately. Sometimes—and he knew it was a thoroughly laughable assumption—it seemed as though she was fixating on his—

_Death_. But—

Why him? Why now?

Miroku ducked.

A large, dirty pebble whizzed by his head. Inuyasha stood a few feet away, glaring sharply, faint carnage in his eyes.

Oh.

"And," continued Kagome obliviously, "your robes—"

Maybe this was Kagome's way of dealing. Of taking her mind off her own problems. Off Inuyasha.

"—I mean, they're dark—"

But. _Should_ he? Should he let her worry about him? Was it the right thing to do?

He hated to admit it, but he was... pleased this past week. It felt nice to have someone worry so openly about him. Not infrequently, he felt as if he were exploiting her good intentions, trying to usurp Inuyasha's dominion over her. Which was—well, it was ridiculous, considering he'd been made well-aware that Kagome belonged with Inuyasha. _To_ Inuyasha.

"—and it's a universally-known fact that dark colors attract sun, a _lot_, so... so..." she trailed off, then tugged at his sleeve. "Heat stroke!"

Miroku couldn't help it.

A wicked grin upturned his features, his shoulders slumping dramatically. With well-practiced pomposity, he clasped her hands in his, pausing airily in the middle of the trodden path. "I understand perfectly now, Kagome-sama."

"Um?" Kagome raised a dainty eyebrow, focusing her adorably flustered gaze on his eyes, but, to his mild surprise, she made no attempt to extract herself from his theatrical embrace.

"You're tying to tell me you want to see me naked," he finished with a sensational flourish. "Ah! I will be more than happy to disrobe for a beautiful girl such as yourse—"

_"__Hiraikotsu!" "__Kaze __no __Kizu!"_

Ow.

"Are you all right, Kagome-chan?" asked Sango, shifting her boomerang with a menacing scowl. "Is he dead? And if not, do you need me to finish him off?"

"Stupid monk," growled Inuyasha, but somehow, even his snarling sounded indifferent and distracted. Sluggishly, the hanyou continued on his path, trying to detach the sleeping kitsune from his sleeve with a mildly annoyed glower.

"Uh... I'm okay, Sango-chan!" said Kagome loudly, then knelt down to inspect Miroku's throbbing head. "I'm sorry," she whispered gently as the rest of the group moved on with a few muttered curses, her bottom lip trembling peculiarly.

Unh...

_She_ was apologizing to _him_?

Stunned, Miroku let her touch the aching bruise on his forehead, watching her eyes widen innocently with every flinch. Her warm, slender fingers ran over the tiny gash lightly, fluttering indecisively as if it were a mortal wound, not a mere scrape. And—

Her eyes. _That_ _look_.

Something loosened in his chest as he exhaled sharply.

What was going on?

"Kagome-sama," he said firmly. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him, startled, like he'd caught her doing something inappropriate. "Nothing?"

Very convincing.

With a groan, Miroku slowly stood up, pulling her with him. Casting a cautious glance at the remainder of the group in the distance, he turned to the girl, trying very hard not to touch her again.

She'd wanted to tell him something a moment ago. He was sure of it. But what was it?

Her shoulders were oddly stiff, her back was painfully straight, and her eyes were darting about, fixing their gaze on anything but him.

"Please," he heard himself say.

He had to know. For some odd reason, he _had_ to.

To his chagrin, he was worried about her. It was hard to avoid the rush of concern he felt whenever he'd catch a glimpse of her. Ever since he'd seen that... enlightened look on Inuyasha's face, he knew. He knew. It was absolutely, utterly, thoroughly _hopeless_. Irreparable. Impossible. Kagome would never be able to surmount or erase Kikyou's memory. She would never _want_ to.

She'd never be _Kagome _to Inuyasha. She'd never be first.

And—

—she'd never give up. Or mind in the slightest.

Miroku sighed in frustration, turning away. It was none of his business. It wasn't.

If she was that stupid—

"I can't tell you."

Miroku froze. A strange sense of déjà vu tickled the back of his neck, creeping into his consciousness, wrapping its icy fingers around him.

"I can't tell you," she repeated, fidgeting with a tall strand of grass, twisting it around her fingers. Then, quickly, she glanced up with a painfully cheerful smile, looking younger than he thought she was. "Come on, Miroku-sama! Let's go before Inuyasha... um. Well, two words. Raging apoplexy."

Miroku found himself smiling back, wondering all the while why he was indulging her. "You know," he began innocently as they descended the path again, "I never did hear you say no."

"What?" she flushed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

A tiny smirk played about his lips. He had to do it. Had to. It would be good for her. If she couldn't hit _Inuyasha_—

"When we met," he elaborated theatrically, watching two particularly bright spots spread across her pink cheeks. "When I asked you to bear me a son," he waggled his bushy eyebrows, "you never said no."

Ow.

He rubbed his forearm, grinning playfully. Mission accomplished. Though, really, he needed to stop collecting bruises for her benefit. It was unsettling.

"It's been a while," he said cheerfully, "I forgot how hard you hit."

She stiffened abruptly.

What? What did he say?

She was watching him again, observing his every movement with those curious blue eyes. Suddenly, he had a feeling she knew something he didn't.

"Hmm. So... what _did_ I say?" she asked emphatically, cocking her head to one side.

With a chuckle, he walked past her, waving a nonchalant hand. "You said, and I quote," he pitched his voice higher, in a droll imitation of hers, " 'And why would I do that?' "

Kagome jogged up to him, a serious expression on her pretty face.

"Um," she mumbled shyly. "How come you remember that?"

Miroku froze.

Why _did_ he remember?

Flustered, he bent to pick up a pebble, turning it over in his palm, then swung his arm back and threw the little stone over a small sand dune. He heard it plunk into a puddle with an eerie echo, and when he turned to face her again, the edges of his face were outlined in light shadows and he was smiling confidently.

Shrugging, he ignored the thumping in his chest as he watched the smile flicker on her face like a freshly lit candle. "I have an excellent memory, Kagome-sama. It comes from my vigorous training," he grinned, nudging her lightly. "_And_ my special tea."

Kagome beamed sweetly, tugging at his sleeve and making him stop to look at her. "Really? What did you have for breakfast?"

Uh...

"Eight second rule, Miroku-sama," she giggled as his eyebrows quirked upwards, and ran on ahead, leaving him standing in the middle of the dusty trail with a positively nonplussed expression clouding his tanned features.

Flustered, Miroku frowned. What the hell was this eight second rule?

And as he lazily advanced on her, deliberately making a mental note to ask about this infantile rule later, he wondered what in Buddha_'s_ name he had for breakfast.

__

'I've always been more of a solitary man, preferring to work on my own, than in the company of others.'

'Yeah, but if we don't work fast, you won't even have your own company to enjoy.'

'Dear Kagome-sama, are you troubled by this wretched fate of mine?'

'Who should I help out? Miroku-sama's a lot nicer than Inuyasha...'

'Y—you wouldn't dare betray me!'

Oops, wrong memory. Grimacing, he shook his head, pushing the thought away unceremoniously. Damn it, what _did_ he have for breakfast?

"Houshi-sama?"

Miroku looked up. He'd caught up to the group without even realizing it. Inuyasha was eyeing him oddly, frowning distrustfully; Kagome was chatting with Shippou, glancing surreptitiously at Inuyasha, and Sango—

Sango was standing in front of him, a mixture of concern and suspicion staining her lovely features.

"I'm okay," he said absentmindedly, looking past her shoulder to the small valley below. "_My!_ That village certainly seems as if it's enjoying an opulent lifestyle," he pointed casually, feigning indifference while his brain schemed furtively. "How truly unfortunate that such ominous clouds are gathering over it!"

Sango gave an exasperated sigh, while Inuyasha snorted derisively.

"Oh!" exclaimed Kagome happily. "I won't have to sleep on the ground again! Yay!"

Miroku tilted his head.

Huh.

Kagome was the only one that never complained about his... less virtuous endeavors. In fact, most of the time, she was downright ecstatic about them. He couldn't recall a single instance when she'd chastised him for anything other than his, uh, roaming hands. Which, he noted with no small amount of astonishment, she hadn't really protested lately.

_Huh_.

Forcing himself to look away, he descended the hill, enjoying the amicable silence. The village nestled within the valley spread below them like a dark, frozen river, resembling a sown playground of dying candles.

Unfortunately, the farmers on the outskirts of the village seemed a little too enthusiastic to see them, even at this late hour. Most of them had turned their heads to watch as the group passed by tiny rice fields, observing the outsiders with sparkling eyes.

For a moment, Miroku was certain he could almost recognize the familiar glint of_ something_ in their welcoming smiles. Then, assuring himself the possibility was wholly ridiculous, he relaxed. This village—this village was small and peaceful and—

"Welcome, travelers!"

Miroku turned, looked left, then right, then frowned in confusion, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.

"Down here," said a hoarse voice.

Miroku glanced down, his eyebrows still high on his sun-touched forehead.

A short old man with countless wrinkles and craggy whiskers was smiling up at them, waving his ratty cane. "Welcome! Can I interest you in a reading?"

Miroku blinked and exchanged glances with Inuyasha. The old man didn't _seem_ dangerous, but what was he—

"What the hell are you talking about, old man?" asked Inuyasha rudely, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The old man in question offered them a strained smile, though his eyes spoke of deep exasperation.

"The future!" he clarified loudly. "Do you want me to read your future?"

Miroku shook his head, muttering under his breath. He'd been right. He knew there had to be a reason for the village's obvious wealth in these times of hardship. Perhaps procuring tonight's lodging would be a much more difficult task than he had previously anticipated.

It was clearly time to turn around.

"Oh," Kagome squealed happily. "A fortune teller! Ooh! Let's do it! It'll be fun."

Miroku flinched. He'd planned on leaning closer to her and whispering the truth, but Inuyasha beat him to it. Except, minus the whispering.

"Keh. Idiot! He's trying to swindle us, you stupid—"

"I'd like to try it," said Sango quietly.

All eyes turned to her.

Her lips were thinning into a tenuous line, her eyes softening with unshed tears.

One simple word etched itself across Miroku's mind.

_Kohaku_.

"For a nominal fee, I assume?" he asked suddenly, staring the old man down with a determined scowl.

The old man nodded vehemently. "Of course."

"Fine," replied Miroku, glancing at Sango. Something, some emotion beyond description, unfolded across her face.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the future, but if Sango did, then...

The old man looked pleased as he ushered the small group into his ornate shack. A frumpy old woman sat there, looking bored. She jumped to her feet quickly when she spotted them, going about making tea and bowing excessively.

"So, how will you do it?" asked Kagome enthusiastically, practically bouncing from one foot to the other as an equally excited Shippou clung to her leg. "Crystal ball, coffee grinds, Tarot cards, ooh—palms?"

The old man blinked warily, his withered hands freezing midair.

"I prefer fortune cookies because they're open to interpretation," she continued happily while the rest of the shack stared at her. "Except, sometimes, they're kinda... useless and make no sense whatsoever," she scrunched up her little nose thoughtfully. "But they taste good, so that's a plus."

Silence.

"Um... that is to say—hey, is that tea?"

Miroku tried very hard to hide his grin, then sat down on the offered mat. Sango sat to his left, while Kagome plopped down to his right, Shippou in her lap.

"Kagome," whispered Shippou, awed, "will you bring me some of those cookies next time?"

Flushed, Kagome nodded, ruffling the little kitsune's hair.

Inuyasha scoffed from where he was skulking in a dark corner, and Miroku looked at the old man. "So, tea leaves?"

The old man looked indignant. "Not just _any_ tea leaves! _My_ tea leaves. I've been growing them for years. It's a gift."

Doubtful, Miroku raised a bushy eyebrow, thoroughly prepared to voice his disapproval, but Sango was sitting there, deadly serious, so he bit his tongue and reluctantly permitted the old man to moan and groan and pretend as if he actually knew what he was doing.

Without having to confer, Kagome, Shippou, and Miroku allowed Sango to go first. She was lightly flushed—most likely embarrassed to have all of them there for something she considered reasonably private—and concentrating on what the old man was telling her.

"Oh, I see apples in your future," said the old man with too much feigned mysticism. Miroku's jaw clenched imperceptibly.

"Uh... apples?" asked Sango, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"Apples mean you're going to have a long life," nodded the old man appreciatively. "Good. You deserve it."

Miroku sat up straighter.

"And there's a basket," continued the old man with a mischievous grin. "An addition to the family, I'm convinced," he said, casting her a warm smile.

Sango blushed profusely, while Kagome giggled. Miroku cleared his throat with an audacious smirk. Hmm. Perhaps that child he kept asking for—

"And... he's going to be all right soon," said the old man unexpectedly.

Miroku's head snapped up.

"What?" Sango mumbled, trembling.

"Hmm?"

"Who's going to be all right?" she demanded, clenching her fist.

The old man blinked innocently. "What?"

Sango gritted her teeth. "You said—you said he was going to be all right. Who's _he_?" she asked desperately.

"Did I really? Did I say that?" the old man looked about the room, confused. "I don't remember."

Sango growled in frustration, then averted her eyes to Kagome. "I'm going to wait outside. Yell if you need a boomerang. Or poison. Or an extra pair of hands."

The old man shrunk back on his mat, his whiskers twitching.

Sango slowly got up, squared her shoulders, nodded angrily at a disturbingly silent Inuyasha, then marched outside, fuming.

Miroku scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. He was going to follow her out, he _was_, but—

"And you," the old man pointed a wobbly finger at Kagome's lap. "You with the tail. There's a night bird in your leaves."

Shippou blinked his little green eyes, looking up at a flustered Kagome for an explanation. Kagome bit her lip.

"It is an _e_vil omen," said the old man in a haunted tone. Shippou squeaked, blinking anxiously.

"Wha—what kind of evil omen?" he whimpered, clutching desperately to Kagome's red necktie.

"Sickness, poverty, disgrace!" said the old man gravely, though Miroku could have sworn he'd seen his wrinkled cheeks stretch into an amusingly malicious grin.

"Kagome!" wailed Shippou, snuggling into her chest, seeking protection.

"Oh, um," yelped Kagome, trying to comfort the little kitsune. "That's... that's not true." Pause. "Is it?"

The old man shrugged noncommittally. "There's also an arrow. I can't really tell."

"What does _that_ mean?" cried Shippou, wiping his eyes with a shaky paw.

Kagome opened her mouth—

"It means someone's going to shoot you with one, stupid runt!" grumbled Inuyasha from his corner.

Shippou wailed loudly, then bolted outside.

Kagome looked at her empty lap, then Miroku, then Inuyasha.

"Sit!" she said angrily.

Inuyasha kissed the floor, breaking the low table and scattering the damp leaves around.

"Bitch!"

"My!" said the old man, seemingly unconcerned with his wrecked household furnishings. "There's a wheel on that one. Did he inherit something recently?"

Inuyasha snorted, trying to get up.

"Actually—" began Kagome, but the old man raised a hand to silence her.

"And wood. Did he pledge himself in marriage?"

Kagome froze.

Miroku watched her intently.

"FEH! I've had enough of this shit. Kagome, let's go."

Kagome looked at the ground, furrowing her eyebrows contemplatively.

"Tch. Fine. Idiot."

And just like that, the hanyou was gone, escaping through the stringy flap that shielded the door. Dazed, Miroku narrowed his eyes at the old man. Was he methodically trying to get rid of everyone else?

Oi. What a ridiculous notion.

Bemused, Miroku addressed the old man, who was smiling oddly at the ground. "I apologize for the dama—"

The old man ignored him, picking through the leaves. "Head covering," he mumbled. He turned to Kagome. "Success in life."

Kagome tilted her head, putting a finger to her chin. "_That's _what a hat means?" Pause. "Are there little squares and triangles on it? Because I kinda have to pass Geometry."

The old man blinked. Miroku followed.

"Gah, Inuyasha's right. I guess this really was a waste of time. The only time people get answers to really important questions is in manga," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Slowly, she rose, and, throwing a questioning glance over her shoulder at Miroku, she exited, her fingers lingering on the flap before she pushed it aside with a soft sigh.

Miroku tapped his fingers on his knees with a blank stare.

__

Does that mean I have to pay for all this?

With a scowl, he turned to the old man, intent on weaseling out of such an unfair predicament.

"You're going to have to wait a long time," the old man told him seriously, interrupting his unrehearsed speech.

Eh?

"For...?" asked Miroku bewilderedly.

"Heh," was all the old man said, thrusting his wrinkled hand out, expecting payment.

Begrudgingly, Miroku paid him, promising himself reimbursement once he cornered Inuyasha.

When he was almost out of the shack, his hand froze midair at the sound of the old man's grating voice.

"When the sun sets next, you better lay low, monk."

Miroku grinned. "I intend to," he said and was gone.

Once outside, he easily spotted the rest of his companions resting against a well in the center of the village. The moonlight dimmed for a while, as if the moon had passed under a great deal of heavy clouds, and for a moment, Miroku felt lightheaded and lost.

Promptly, he shrugged the feeling off, approaching the well and arranging his face into a cheerful expression.

Sango was standing stiffly, leaning against the well with her arms crossed, waiting for the vacationing Kirara to return. Shippou was clinging to Kagome, Kagome was watching Sango, and Inuyasha—

Inuyasha was staring off into the horizon.

_Thinking about Kikyou_?

With a determined stride (why did he feel angry all of a sudden?), Miroku closed the distance, and opened his mouth to smooth things over. But nothing came out. The darkness echoed back in silence as he padded across the gravelly ground, listening to Kagome's soft humming.

She glanced up at him as he sat next to her on the well's blocky brim.

"This whole village is full of swindlers," she muttered, swinging her legs with a pout.

"I _told_ you," snarled Inuyasha halfheartedly, barely looking up from his sulky crouch.

"In the ten minutes I waited for you, I was ambushed by three beggars—who, by the way, looked wealthier than all of us put together—and a monk who claimed he could provide me with enlightenment... for a modest price," grunted Sango accusingly.

"Wow, Miroku, you'd sure fit in here, huh?" said Shippou innocently.

Miroku's lips curled.

"So much for not sleeping on the ground tonight, eh?" sighed Kagome softly. Then, instantly, she perked up. "Oh!"

"What?"

Kagome fidgeted. "Um, Inuyasha... would-it-be-okay if-I-went-home-now?"

Inuyasha twitched.

"It's just... uh, well, tomorrow's Monday, and I... I have school."

Inuyasha twitched twice.

"And I know we didn't find any shards this time, but my exam in Chemi—no! Um. Geometry. My exam in _Geometry_ is very important."

Miroku tilted his head, inspecting her studiously.

Her eyes were averted, her fingers twisting nervously, and one bare knee was slightly bent. She looked sheepish and shy and—

She was lying!

Miroku blinked incredulously. He didn't know _how_ he knew, but she. Was. Lying.

He paused. She'd been going home frequently as of late. And she stayed away longer. And she seemed distant. And guilty. He'd attributed it to the whole Kikyou thing, but now...

Now, he wondered.

"Kagome-sama," he ventured slyly, "I thought you had this... Geometry exam last week."

Kagome blushed peculiarly.

Yeah. She was definitely lying. _Why_?

"Yes, but, um..." she fiddled with her skirt. "I have to retake it, because..." here she looked at him, and for a moment, Miroku had the strangest feeling she was accusing him of something. "I just have to retake it, okay?"

Feeling inexplicably odd, Miroku prodded further. "But, Kagome-sama, you didn't bring any books with you this time. You couldn't possibly be sufficiently prepared."

He had her now.

"I—you—_sit_!"

Inuyasha did.

"Oh."

Sango giggled. Shippou snickered. Miroku grinned. Kagome stomped away furiously, her face alternating from a horrified pale to a flushed pink.

With an amused shake of his head, Miroku calmly addressed a grinning Sango. "I'm going to go make sure she reaches the well safely. If Kirara returns, could you ask her to come get us? It'll be faster that way."

Sango nodded, frowning gently. "Kagome-chan's been gone a lot lately, hasn't she?"

Miroku said nothing.

"It's that stupid dog's fault!" pouted Shippou, tapping his paws irately. Inuyasha finally picked himself up, but steadfastly ignored the little kitsune.

_Not_ _even_ _a_ _Feh_? _Hmm_.

"Indirectly, yes," agreed Miroku, observing the hanyou. "But..."

_But there's something else_.

"Just go get her before she trips on a bug and ends up dead," grunted Inuyasha sulkily.

Miroku exchanged wary glances with Sango, then set off.

It didn't take him long to find Kagome.

In fact, it took him longer to stop laughing.

She was sitting on the grassy ground, nursing a bug bite with a petulant expression marring her usually cheery features.

"Got lost?" he asked, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter.

She refused to look at him.

"What bit you?"

Silence.

"Kagome-sama... are you upset with me?"

Nothing.

"Kagome-sama, are you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Miroku pinched the bridge of his nose, then sat down beside her. _She's not upset with me_, he had to remind himself. _She's upset with Inuyasha_.

Right?

"I wish I'd remembered to bring at least one pocky. I could really use it about now," she muttered, rubbing her ankle.

It was a pretty ankle.

"Pocky?" he questioned curiously.

Kagome sniffled. "A strawberry one. A giant strawberry pocky."

Miroku wrinkled his nose. "That sounds... delicious," he lied.

Kagome glared at him. "Oh, shut up. You love them more than I do."

What?

"Kagome-sama?" he blinked. He'd never had a giant strawberry... thing. He didn't think he'd ever want to have a giant strawberry thing.

Her eyes widened. "Oh! Um! No—forget I said that."

He wanted to. But—

"Kagome-sama," he said as softly as he could, but she stood up abruptly, offering him quite a view.

Unh.

"I'm going home," she pointed to a distant thicket, flustered.

"Very well," he grinned cheerfully. "But you might want to—" here, he stood up and lightly grasped her hand, pointing it in the opposite direction, "—go that way."

Kagome went brick red, stammered out a "Yes, thanks," then extracted her hand from his.

He watched her ascend the path, which was thick with foliage and slick with dew and—

She slipped.

"Miroku-sama..." she whimpered miserably.

Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he climbed after her, feeling the ground beneath him shift, scalding the earth to make way for his footprints. The moon started its slow descent, looking for all the world like water, its lakes glistening softly in the darkness.

He was reluctant, but—but he'd offer her a shoulder to cry on. He had to. He opened his mouth to tell her that it was all right to let it all out, to scream and cry and—

"You've never heard of the Grandfather Paradox, have you?" she asked suddenly, sniffling.

What? Wasn't this about Inuyasha? He was certain it had to be. Had to be. Kagome didn't think about anything or anyone else. She didn't.

"Of course you haven't," she mumbled to herself, climbing to her feet and brushing herself off. "Stupid question. I'm sorry."

"I haven't heard of it, Kagome-sama," he began uncertainly, stepping closer and helping her up the slippery path. "But perhaps if you explained—"

Her gaze rested on his face. She seemed to be contemplating it for a moment, looking as if she'd burst with some great secret any moment now.

"Gah! Okay!" she said finally, surrendering to whatever impulse drove her to ask him such a strange question in the first place.

Patiently, Miroku waited as they climbed toward the darkened horizon. Then he waited some more.

"Kagome-sama?"

She seemed to be searching for words. "Um, well," she began inarticulately. Her foot slipped a little, so, instinctively, she grabbed onto his arm for support. Except she didn't let go even after they were on level ground.

In fact, she looked quite comfortable resting her hand on his arm.

"Okay, apparently, this is how it works," she told him confidentially. "Say you went back in time about fifty years."

"Mh hmm."

"And say you met a young man, and accidentally, um... killed him."

"Why would I want to—"

"I said _accidentally_, Miroku-sama."

Miroku grinned brilliantly.

"So, anyway," said Kagome, poking his forearm with a side glance. "By doing that, you changed the past and your interference had terrible consequences, especially if that young man turned out to be your grandfather."

Miroku's head swam. The moon threatened to fade away with the coming flashes of early morning light. He listened to her voice, the sound tapering off like rain against thin metal.

She cleared her throat, and continued ambiguously, "So, if you killed your grandfather, he wouldn't have children, and those children wouldn't have you."

Miroku was silent for a minute. "So, what you're saying is, killing your family is dangerous."

Kagome blanched. "That—that's not what—I..." Her features softened ominously. "Miroku-sama. Don't you ever wonder if it's—wrong for me to be here?"

Miroku stared at her.

Stupid Inuyasha.

He was going to _kill_ him.

"No," he said resolutely. "I don't. And neither should you."

Kagome looked at him in surprise, then relaxed and smiled happily.

Was that it? Was she worried she didn't belong here? Why wouldn't she—

Her fingers brushed against his skin, and suddenly, there was a breeze so abrupt and gentle it seemed to be seeping through the clouds. It sounded as though someone had sighed, somewhere off in the distance, as if a long bout of crying had finally ended.

Well. She _didn't_ belong here.

He couldn't even imagine what her world was like, what the future entailed, but... it was comforting to know that there _was_ a future. As long as Kagome belonged in _her_ time, he'd be able to cling to this selfish feeling of security.

But—

"What was your grandfather like?"

"What?" he raised both eyebrows, his frown deepening. It wasn't exactly a non sequitur, considering their preceding conversation, but—

"He was a good man. I think. I never met him."

No one—no one had ever asked him that question. Hell, not many people asked him personal questions, period. So, it was no surprise Miroku found himself at a loss for words.

"And your father?" she asked softly, kicking leisurely at a small pebble.

Huh. Miroku glanced at her, wondering why she looked so comfortable leaning against him, with their arms entwined so snugly. What baffled him even more was—was that it felt so natural.

"He was funny. I remember that," he mumbled, a warm emotion spreading through his chest. "He used to tell me stories about—uhm, his..."

To his chagrin, Miroku flushed.

"His many conquests?" Kagome giggled innocently.

"Remarkable intuition," he smirked, pointing his staff north. "Actually, he always said no one was as difficult to, erm, conquer as my mother. She used to be a priestess—" Ruefully, he looked down at Kagome, who was watching the ground intently.

_Definitely time to change the topic_.

"Kagome-sama," he cleared his throat. "I'm not exactly positive, but..." he frowned. "I don't think you—or anyone, for that matter—can affect the future in a way that isn't already preordained."

Her nose scrunched up. "Wh—what do you mean?"

Miroku paused thoughtfully, then clutched his staff tightly as he knelt to the ground. "This Grandfather Paradox you spoke of—" he said, drawing a circle in the dirt. "It doesn't make sense."

Kagome eyed him skeptically. "Miroku-sama, with all due respect, I don't think you can debunk 20th century scien—"

"I'm not saying it's _wrong_," he mumbled, concentrating. Lightly, he marked a spot on the circle. "Let's use your example."

Kagome watched, fascinated.

Briefly, Miroku was completely distracted, surprised to be the recipient of so much of her attention.

"This is you," he glanced at her purposefully, scribbling her kanji into the dry, grainy dirt. "If you went back in time to kill your grandfather—"

"I wouldn't—" she huffed indignantly.

Miroku grinned, amused. "—and assuming you succeeded in killing him, most likely with a stray arrow aimed at someone else—"

"Gh—I—Mir—"

Miroku bit back a chuckle. "You would never be born, therefore changing the future, right?"

Kagome nodded, a tiny superior smirk threatening to cloud her expression, as if to say, 'See, I'm right and you're wrong and I'm going to rub it in now with my giant strawberry pocky.'

Cleverly, Miroku looked up and braced his palms against the lopsided illustration, leaving his staff on the ground. "But Kagome-sama—" he murmured and watched, surprised, as her gaze slowly dropped to his lips.

Huh. This—this was new.

Her hands were tucked safely under her sleeves, the tips of her fingers poking out childishly as she blushed and knelt next to him to observe his sketch. Miroku fought the urge to close his eyes, hearing nothing but the breeze as it caressed the back of his neck, and his own steady heartbeat.

Swallowing, he pushed off the ground as the howling in the distance grew louder. "—if you'd never been born, how could you have gone back into the past to kill your grandfather?"

He watched, strangely satisfied, as her eyes widened and her lips parted, fingers clutching the hem of her skirt, pushing it down against the wind.

"Oh," was all she said, and Miroku enjoyed the bewildered pout dancing across her features. Then, to his complete astonishment, she balled up her little fists, her knuckles turning white.

"I'm going to _kill_ him!" she growled irritably, jumping to her feet. "I'm going to—I'm going to... well, I don't know what I'm going to do, but it's going to _hurt_!"

Miroku coughed uncomfortably. Kill him? Him, _who_?

"He _lied_ to me!" she narrowed her eyes, then spun on her heel.

The next thing Miroku knew, her slender finger was poking his chest as she rambled, a slight trace of fury edging her voice. "Jerk!"

Oddly, Miroku felt as though she'd been referring to him, but that—that was impossible. He hadn't done anything. And he certainly never lied to her.

Fortunately, he was rescued within a moment.

With a throaty growl, Kirara, her paws blazing in the darkening sky, touched ground beside them.

"Kirara, am I glad to see you!" said Kagome, her anger washing away instantaneously. Kirara mewled and nuzzled Kagome's hand in greeting. "Could you please take me to the well? I'm sorry to be such a bother, but—"

Obediently, Kirara sat down, offering her back to Kagome. Gratefully, Kagome mounted the demon as Miroku watched with a contrite scowl.

Kagome certainly seemed in a hurry to get home. She was full to bursting with some unidentifiable energy, and—

What was so entertaining about her time _now_ that wasn't before?

Oh.

__

'I'm going to kill him.'

Him.

Briefly, Miroku wondered at the fleeting twinge of jealousy (where did _that_ come from?), but immediately shrugged it away.

Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous.

Hesitantly, he watched as Kirara and Kagome became nothing but tiny specks on the darkening horizon, then calmly collected his staff, and headed back toward the village.

Once again, it was none of his business. None. Of. His. Business.

Rubbing his chin in thought, Miroku grinned wickedly.

Besides. There was a basket in Sango's tea leaves.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[Poor Kagome. She obviously wasn't paying attention. Technically, the Grandfather Paradox states that time travel is _impossible_. Of course, science is evil and doesn't watch anime. Stupid science.]


	4. Things

**Author's** **Notes**: Yay, fluffy chapter! ...I'm really sorry. It had to be done. I mean, Kagome needs a reason to like Miroku. And apparently, my "But he's hot!" argument didn't quite work on her.

.

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**Chapter Two: _Little Things_**

_Ah—love—the walks over soft grass, the smiles over candlelight_...

_the arguments over just about everything else_...

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.

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_Tokyo_, _1997_.

.

.

.

She was quite ready to kill him.

She'd prepared mentally throughout the night. She was ready. She was. She knew what she needed to do. She'd start off by accusing him of being a big meanie and a liar and a jerk, and then—

"You're back," came a soft breath, tickling her ear and sending shivers down her spine.

Higurashi Kagome whirled around and... nearly forgot her inordinately righteous—yet classy!—speech.

Miroku, the non-monk one, was standing behind her, blocking the classroom doorway (where Kagome had been staked out, waiting impatiently since early morning, planning how best to commit a vicious murder without witness interference).

Miroku's dark uniform was neatly pressed, with the collar turned up and the sleeves hanging down. Several thick books were resting in his arms. A defiant lock of black hair bounced across his forehead. Kagome swallowed as he smiled down at her, a pleasantly surprised smile widening his eyes.

"Uh..." she began, momentarily lost.

_How did that speech start again?_

Oh, yeah.

"You lied to me," she growled conspiratorially.

Miroku watched her with the most innocent of expressions. "Did I really? Care to narrow it down?" he asked, amused, and wrapped his fingers around her forearm in an attempt to guide her away from the entrance. For a moment, Kagome couldn't quite remember where her seat was located, but it seemed as though _he_ knew, so she relaxed and let him—

Wait.

Exhibiting vigilante-like reflexes, Kagome jumped away from Miroku, and poked a shiny button in the middle of his chest. She would _not_ be deterred this time. "Grandfather paradox."

Miroku scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "Crap, I forgot about that. Did he tell you already?"

Kagome didn't have to ask whom he was referring to. "Yes, _he_ told me." She poked him again. "Why did you lie to me? Why won't you tell me? Why can't I know if I can't change it? Why _can't_ I change it? Would _you_ want to change it? Why—"

"Kagome," groaned Miroku, placing his books down on his tidy desk. Several of their classmates entered the classroom, giving the two huddled figures curious glances. Miroku lowered his voice and stepped closer, dipping to her level. "You're giving me a headache. One question at a time, please."

Kagome took a deep, calming breath. "Will you tell me? Not everything, just... minor stuff? Please?"

Miroku watched her contemplatively. His shoulders slumped imperceptibly, as though he'd given up after a long, gory battle with a mantis demon. "Yes."

Kagome squealed happily, but Miroku shushed her. "_After _school," he said with authority, then grinned wickedly. "Wacdonalds?"

Kagome, her murderous rage evaporating abruptly, sighed. "Ice cream."

"Deal."

She wanted to say something else, as she'd begun feeling strangely... unsatisfied letting him have the last word of late, but—

"Kagome-san!" said an extremely cheerful voice. Kagome looked up. Hojou-kun was closing in fast, flanked by Kagome's three friends, who were waving and chattering happily, oblivious to the way Kagome was positioned next to _Kazuo-kun_.

Quickly, Kagome withdrew her hand from Miroku's chest, and pretended she hadn't seen his annoying, smug smirk.

"Kagome-san!" repeated Hojou-kun, as if everyone in the vicinity hadn't heard him the first time.

"It's too early to deal with this," she whispered under her breath, wondering if she'd have reacted like this before meeting Inuyasha. If she'd ever think of a boy like Hojou as, um, a nuisance?

"Him again? Regular Energizer bunny, isn't he?" muttered Miroku grumpily.

Kagome looked up, intent on defending poor, helpful Hojou-kun, who was so very considerate and kind and—

—loud.

"Do you like him?" asked Miroku suddenly, and Kagome felt a stab of worry over the scheming look in his narrowed eyes.

"What?"

"Do you like that bumbling idiot?"

"I—as a friend—and—he's not a bumbling idiot—and—"

"_Kagome_-_sama_," Miroku warned darkly. Hojou-kun was approaching at a staggering speed. In a second, he'd presumably come swooping down and—

"No!" she insisted hastily, then sagged in embarrassment, certain everyone within a mile-wide radius had heard her and—

Oh.

Oh...

"Play along, then," grinned Miroku. Kagome watched him incredulously, a massive pink blush overwhelming her features, because. Her. Hand. Was. Now. Suddenly. In. Miroku's.

Hojou-kun froze two meters away, blocked by a pesky desk, his gushy smile fading instantaneously. Uncertainly, his eyes darted from Miroku to Kagome to their joined hands to the floor. "Uh," he stammered uncomfortably. "Higurashi-san?"

Kagome opened her mouth, then promptly realized she didn't know what to say. Or do. Or feel.

"Kagome-chan," murmured Miroku in a deep, growling voice Kagome had never heard before (and why were her knees weak all of a sudden?). "Surely, I must be mistaken, but I'm getting the impression Hojou-kun has an interest in you," he continued harshly as several students clustering around Hojou paused to listen. Yuka watched without blinking; Ayumi raised a thin eyebrow; and Erri was beaming brilliantly.

Kagome's circulation cut off.

"You aren't _cheating_ on me, are you?" asked Miroku dramatically, feigning hurt.

Kagome couldn't feel her legs. Did he just—? In front of the entire class?

"No?" she heard herself say timidly. What was the idiot _thinking_?

Miroku nodded appreciatively, smirking. "Then I suppose it shall be quite alright if I allow Hojou-kun a moment of your time." Here, he glanced at Hojou with a charitable little nod.

"Oh, no... that's okay, it—it wasn't anything really important," said Hojou quickly, and Kagome winced, feeling incredibly mean and thoughtless. Miroku swung their joined hands playfully and tugged her closer.

"I just wanted to give her this... um, tea?" said Hojou, observing their hands as though they were evil.

"Oh, tea," said Miroku boisterously. "Lovely! Thank you. We shall quite enjoy it tonight. Won't we, Kagome-chan?"

Kagome stopped believing in God.

Hojou-kun, on the other hand, eyed Miroku suspiciously for a moment, handed him the patterned teabag, then slowly retreated to where Yuka, Ayumi, and Erri were gaping numbly.

Kagome wondered whether Miroku was aware of twenty-eight pairs of eyes that were boring into the two of them, as they stood so perfectly aligned in the center of the room—

—or whether he was aware how incredibly fast gossip like this traveled—

And most importantly, she wondered if he was aware that she was about to burst out laughing.

She'd never, _ever_, heard a funnier, more absurd insinuation. Miroku had implied they were (Kagome cracked up) _together_. If any of their classmates truly knew him, they'd realize what a ridiculous, preposterous, absolutely insane concept that was. Ha! Kagome dating Miroku. Not in _this_ lifetime!

She wasn't exactly certain why she found the idea so laughable, but since she refused to cry or feel humiliated (again), Kagome wasn't left with many other choices.

"You're the _devil_," she whispered, choking on giggles and attempting to camouflage her reaction by burying her face in his chest. Miroku casually draped an arm around her, shielding her expression from the startled class, which most likely simply assumed that "strange Higurashi girl" was having another seizure.

"And _you_ just ruined my chances of becoming president," whispered Miroku, though he was grinning mischievously. "Ah, the things I do for you."

Kagome grinned against his chest, completely oblivious to her friends' thirsty, questioning glances. Miroku's diabolical approach to all things performed in public was apparently contagious. It was clearly futile to fight against it. So, she didn't.

Reluctantly, she detached herself from Miroku and slowly located her seat, collapsing into it with a muffled snort. She needed to collect herself. Because school was important. It was. It was the cornerstone of her future; her reputation; her...

Miroku was sitting somewhere behind her. She could feel him. Covertly, she turned her head, and gave him a small, grateful smile that seemed to fluster him greatly.

For the first time in a long time, Kagome felt elated. The insistent burden and pressure of wanting to be perfect—for Mama, for Inuyasha, for the world—seemed to dissolve. She thought herself quite ridiculous now for worrying so much about such relatively insignificant, meaningless matters. Like societal opinion. And Kikyou. And grades. Why, grades weren't important in the least—

No. She didn't mean it. Of course grades were important. Very important... and... it was such a nice, sunny day.

Feeling oddly defiant, she turned again, intent on coercing either Yuka or Erri into joining her for, erm, a premature exodus. Perhaps they could window-shop and run from policing senior citizens and drown in ice cream. Yes. She deserved a day off from everything. After all, when was the last time she actually preferred _her_ Tokyo to Inuyasha's Sengoku Jidai?

Kagome paled.

_Inuyasha_.

Awkwardly, she realized she hadn't thought about him once this morning. As a matter of fact, she hadn't given him a single thought since yesterday, when she'd stormed off. Without saying goodbye.

"Ohayo," said Mr. Yoshimatsu, the History teacher, belligerently. The door clicked shut behind him, startling Kagome out of her traitorous thoughts.

Mr. Yoshimatsu wasted no time—Kagome's head was spinning with trivial dates and obscure names within a minute. She sat stiffly, pretending she was paying attention, and thought how angry Inuyasha must have been when she left.

A tree flashed in the distance, and Kagome glanced away from the window. No. Inuyasha wasn't upset. Hadn't been in days. _Weeks_. Hadn't really _looked_ at her in weeks.

Telling herself she was being unnecessarily angsty, Kagome returned her attention to the lecture, or, more specifically, her empty notebook.

Bah.

What mattered now was concentrating on the future, not the past.

Which worked out nicely, really, considering Miroku had agreed to tell her. There were certain things she really, really wanted to know, but she wouldn't push. She couldn't. Besides, science was against it.

With a startled yelp, Kagome noticed she'd been doodling circles all over her notes. She flipped her pencil to erase them, but at the same exact moment her eraser touched the paper, something light and feathery smacked into her, then promptly fell on her notebook.

Kagome looked around. Yuka was staring at her, waggling her eyebrows expectantly. With a hesitant wince, Kagome unfolded the crinkled piece of paper and read the note with trepidation.

.

__

Your mission, and you have no choice but to accept it, is to tell us WHY YOU NEVER MENTIONED YOU AND KAZUO-KUN WERE DATING!

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Kagome cringed. Hastily, she scribbled her response, though she didn't send it to Yuka.

Miroku blinked at the note that dropped on his desk. He unfolded the tiny, failed experiment in origami, and Kagome watched, fascinated, as his lips stretched into a satisfied grin.

No! _Wrong reaction, idiot_.

Why was he grinning? Why wasn't he apologizing to each classmate individually? Kagome _needed_ him to correct the lie before it was too late. Like, before Yuka had her assassinated.

Miroku, for his part, scratched against the crumpled sheet with his pen, then tucked the corners into a neat structure, and nonchalantly flicked it in Kagome's general direction.

.

__

Aww, Kagome-chan. Does that mean I must remain monogamous? How unfortunate. Yuka-san is quite dainty and delicious. And single.

.

Kagome twitched.

_She's not your type_, she wrote down, and crossed her arms huffily. With her chin high in the air, she attempted to listen to Mr. Yoshimatsu prattle incessantly about rebellions and skirmishes he had no real knowledge of.

"—and so, the primary cause for the Onin War—"

A note smacked Kagome's shoulder.

.

_Oh, no. Don't be jealous, my precious flower! I like you and _only_ you! And perhaps that girl that sells crepes near the shrine. But my love for her is purely appetite-related as she's in the habit of giving me free food. That is—not to say I don't prefer _your_ delicious noodles! ...Don't file for divorce, I beg you! I can _change_._

.

Unexpectedly, Kagome giggled.

Mr. Yoshimatsu paused, blinking. "Miss... _Higurashi_, was it? Are you quite alright?"

Kagome flushed. "I'm fine. Sorry," she apologized at once, burning with humiliation. Yuka eyed her contemplatively, most likely still waiting for her missing reply.

A new note bounced across Kagome's desk. Hesitantly, Kagome opened it, checking to see if Mr. Yoshimatsu was still glaring daggers.

.

__

You're preparing to murder me, aren't you, miko?

.

Kagome smiled innocently. _In the worst possible manner, houshi_.

Impatiently, she found herself waiting for over five, very long minutes for his reply. And when a crumpled piece of paper finally landed in her hands, Kagome couldn't help but gasp.

.

_Worst possible manner? Considering you failed to elaborate, I'm assuming you'd like me to guess the method. Let's see. You could inform the dog, though I suppose that would prove rather useless. Oh! I know. You could withhold sex. _(Kagome flushed most violently.) _Let me tell you why that would be a _very bad idea_, scientifically:_

_1. Intercourse produces a significant quantity of estrogen, which makes one's hair shinier and one's skin softer. You do want shiny hair, don't you?_

_2. It also lowers one's chances of contracting dermatitis and other skin diseases. Shall I share this wisdom with your Grandfather?_

_3. It burns calories. Safest sport, really! One doesn't even require special shoes or hazing;_

_4. It releases endorphins, which cure depression;_

_5. Kissing fights plaque and tartar buildup. And you hate going to the dentist.__  
_

_6. It's a natural antihistamine. Which will do wonders for your "asthma" and "pneumonic fevers". Just don't tell Hojou that. I'd hate to have to kill him so early in the semester._

_So, in conclusion, you can't refuse me, can you? I'm only offering for your_ _benefit. Your health._

_I'm a saint, really._

.

Kagome wouldn't know later how exactly it happened, but as she sat there, dumbfounded and breathing heavily, Mr. Yoshimatsu—a tall, lanky, and extremely annoyed man—strolled past her, spotting the note she was clutching in her fingers.

"Miss Higurashi?" he coughed, holding out his hand. When Kagome just blinked up at him in a daze, he sighed deeply and snatched the note himself. He read for a while, nonplussed, and Kagome watched, horrified, as his eyes widened more and more with every word he absorbed.

Finally, he finished, straightened his tie, tucked the note in his pocket, and cleared his throat. "Who wrote this?"

Kagome finally wished for Inuyasha again. Or at least his nice, big sword.

"I apologize, Mr. Yoshimatsu," said a deep voice. "It's my note. Higurashi-san had nothing to do with it."

Mr. Yoshimatsu blinked absentmindedly and walked over to Miroku's desk, lowering his voice, though Kagome could vaguely hear him say, "This—is it _true_, Yasuo?"

Kagome turned to see Miroku tilt his head in acquiescence. Mr. Yoshimatsu nodded to himself, patting his pocket. "I see. Well..." he said, running a shaky hand through his thinning hair, "the Onin war was preceded by..."

Kagome watched Miroku, open-mouthed, noting—with some annoyance—she wasn't the only one staring at him. Several girls were observing him studiously. Kagome found herself wishing they'd just. Look. Away. Already!

She also found herself scandalized to realize she was almost... disappointed that Mr. Yoshimatsu hadn't kicked them out of class like Mr. Makoto had. She caught Hojou's eye and smiled weakly.

What was happening to her?

And more importantly, what was Miroku doing to her reputation, as sickly and nonexistent as it was?

Suddenly, Higurashi Kagome became the opposite of rebellious. She was a paradigm of conformity and obedience for the remainder of the school day. She ignored Miroku during Japanese, Chemistry, _and_ Geometry (_especially_ Geometry). She even volunteered to clean the blackboard, and managed to solve a few difficult equations without help. She was indeed successful in pretending she couldn't hear Yuka's complaints ("Why didn't you teeeeeell me?"), Erri's support ("He's _so_ cute, Kagome-chan!"), _or_ Ayumi's grumbling ("Don't you think Geometry is a little more important than some stupid boy?").

Unfortunately, by the time the last bell rang and she was ushered out by a sea of eager students—who were very intent on getting home in time for their favorite show—Kagome couldn't fight it anymore.

She exchanged hasty good-byes with her friends, ducking behind a cabinet to avoid a very confused-looking Hojou, then made a prompt beeline for—

"Took you long enough," said Miroku huffily.

Kagome adjusted her backpack condescendingly. "I'm not talking to you."

Miroku patted her shoulder amiably. "Okay. I'll just go home then."

Exasperated, Kagome fell into step beside him. By the time she felt like opening her mouth, they were already half a kilometer away from the schoolyard, and on their way to the nearest café.

"So, what are you waiting for, _Kazuo_-_kun_?" she asked, arranging her features into a sugary-sweet expression.

"I thought you weren't talking to me."

_Ooh, that patronizing_—

The café loomed before them. Miroku let her step in first, which Kagome suspected wasn't as gentlemanly as it seemed, considering her skirt was riding up in the breeze. Brick-red, she tugged her uniform down, and scurried away into a corner booth, where they—hopefully—wouldn't be overheard. (And in case they were, she hoped it'd be by a stray hobo whom no one would believe anyway.)

"Okay," she said impatiently. "Tell me."

"Ch," said Miroku, aloof. "I'm waiting for my ice cream."

Kagome marveled at the sheer aggravation coursing through her body. She'd never met anyone who could make her so angry one moment, and so giddy the next. Well, aside from—aside from Inuyasha, of course! Inuyasha, yes. _Must_... _remember_... _Inuyasha_...

"Kagome?" said Miroku, concern lacing his voice. "Your ice cream is melting."

Kagome blinked. She hadn't even noticed the waitress had brought their orders. "Sorry," she said sheepishly, twirling her straw around a piece of strawberry. "I was just thinking. Of—of Inuyasha," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"I see," said Miroku oddly.

For the next few minutes, they ate in silence. An awkward silence. Without warning, Kagome found herself grasping for conversation starters. Which was odd, because she was used to greeting Miroku as though she'd come in halfway through an interesting conversation.

"So, what did you want to know?" he asked eventually, nibbling on his spoon. "Nothing specific, mind you."

Kagome nodded coherently. And then—

And then she realized she hadn't... really... prepared any definite questions. Which, well, who could blame her? She hadn't expected Miroku's cooperation. He was just so full of surprises. Jerk.

"I don't want to know much," she said, but thought, 'Except, you know, everything.'

"I do admire your self-control," smirked Miroku, but she ignored him.

What should she ask?

__

How will you die? Does Inuyasha ever get over Kikyou? Do we save Kohaku? Does Inuyasha reconcile with his brother? Do we ever collect all the shards? Who gets to kill Naraku? Does Sango tell you? What happens to Kouga? What happens to Shippou? What happens to me? Why isn't any of this in the history books? What will Inuyasha wish for? What happens to your kazaana?

"The last time you saw us," she said instead, "what were we doing?"

Miroku looked rather surprised with the question. She watched him for a moment. That familiar look of concentration lingered around the corners of his eyes, his profile dark and mysterious.

"Last time I...?" he asked quietly, his expression unreadable.

"Yes."

A tiny, satisfied smile played about his lips. "Okay," he said wickedly. "Let's see if I can remember..."

"Miro-kun!"

He blinked wildly at the name. Kagome flushed. "Um... continue, please?"

Miroku gathered himself, poking at the dish. "Well... the last I saw of him, Inuyasha was," here, he averted his eyes—guiltily?—and tapped his fingers on the table as if fearing her reaction. "Inuyasha was happy. In love."

Kagome's eyes sparkled.

Miroku frowned oddly, but continued nonetheless. "And Shippou was copping a feel, as usual," he grinned playfully. "Is he still clinging to your hip all the time?"

Kagome smiled affectionately.

Miroku shook his head, amused. "You know he's only pretending to be all cute and cuddly, right? He's actually worse than I ever was, in that respect."

Kagome kicked him under the table. "Uh huh. And Sango?" she licked her spoon, listening enthusiastically.

Miroku paused awkwardly. "Sango was to be married to Lord Kuranosuke," he said coolly.

"WHAT?" screeched Kagome, accidentally toppling her glass over. Water spilled across the table.

"And—" continued Miroku calmly, dabbing at the spill with a paper napkin.

"No, no, go back," said Kagome, her heart pounding. "Sango was _what_?"

Miroku watched her with an indecipherable look. "Engaged. To Lord Kuranosuke."

Kagome squirmed. He had to be lying. Had to. If he _wasn't_... those four words had the potential to change everything. "Um," she coughed, losing all interest in her melting ice cream. "You didn't perchance change your name to Kuranosuke and discover a noble lineage?"

"What?"

Kagome shifted uncomfortably. "Well, it's just... you and Sango... I—"

"—know," he interrupted. His expression quickly switched from somber to charming. "And you..." he grinned seductively.

Kagome held her breath.

"...you were naked."

_Wham_!

Miroku chuckled, rubbing his calf. "You did ask."

Huffing, Kagome adjusted her little red necktie. Stupid liar. "What about Naraku?" she said, fighting desperately to keep her cheeks nice and pale.

Miroku gripped his spoon, his knuckles turning white. Something within Kagome's ribcage ached briefly, constricting her breathing.

"I don't know," was all he said.

Kagome suddenly felt overly confined. She wanted to know. She wanted to ask. Judging by Miroku's reaction to Naraku's name...

Was it possible he'd died before Inuyasha or Kouga defeated Naraku?

Urgh!

This not knowing was killing her. She was already making a spectacle of herself back in Sengoku Jidai, fawning over the monk like he was at death's door.

But...

What if he _was_? What if he died tomorrow? What if she came back tonight and found him gone? After all, like she'd mentioned to him numerous times, a person could die of... of so many things!

Taking a deep breath, Kagome tried soothing herself with the fact that they'd never met this Lord Kuranosuke Sango was supposed to... _like_ (Kagome scrunched up her nose), so the monk clearly wouldn't be dying that soon. Right?

Mildly surprised, she realized—Miroku, he was dropping little hints here and there, wasn't he? And if she bugged him long enough, she might eventually figure out when and where and how it happened... _will happen_.

Headache.

"Kagome?" he asked, a shiny spoon dangling from his long fingers.

Kagome frowned. "You keep switching."

Miroku blinked. "What?"

"You keep switching from Kagome-sama and Kagome," she said thoughtfully.

Curiously enough, Miroku seemed flustered. "Oh. Well, eighteen years of 20th century Tokyo do add up to a questionable understanding of social hierarchy."

Kagome grinned. "But, apparently, they had no effect on your vocabu—wait, eighteen years?"

Miroku tapped the edge of his bowl. "Yes," he said with an uneasy cough. "I spent three years out of school when I was little."

Kagome raised her eyebrows, intrigued. She opened her mouth to ask, but was promptly distracted.

"Are you going back today?" he asked gently.

Kagome nodded, surprised she'd practically forgotten.

"Okay," he said. "I guess I'll see you in...?"

"Two days," she said, mentally calculating the odds of Inuyasha letting her return so soon and cringing.

"So, a week?" grinned Miroku, and Kagome couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, rising from the booth and looking down at Miroku. "I almost forgot. I need to stock up before I go."

Miroku stood up as well, taking their receipt to the excessively sparkly counter. "On?"

"Pocky."

Miroku's eyes widened pleasantly. "Strawberry?"

Kagome hummed. "Precisely. I decided to stuff some down your throat 'cause you—um... I mean, the... uh, the _other_ you..." she trailed off helplessly.

Miroku raised an accusatory eyebrow. "You know," he said as the girl at the register handed him his change with a shy giggle (which Kagome found quite bothersome for some peculiar reason), "you're the one that got me hooked on those. I consider you the equivalent of a crack dealer."

Kagome looked at him, then at the arm that seemed to be inviting hers. "Impossible. You got hooked on them here. Without my help," she said snootily, linking her arm with his without much thought.

"Nuh huh," said Miroku, as they stepped out into the darkening street. Several older passerby made "_aww_" faces as they walked past. Kagome suddenly felt extremely self-conscious.

"Yuh huh," she retaliated eloquently.

Miroku's lips were quirking upwards again. "You just said you'd decided to stuff the _other_ me with them, didn't you?"

Kagome cringed, catching on. "So, that's when you got hooked on them? I'd brought them to Sengoku Jidai, you'd tried them, I came here, noticed you like them, decided to bring some with me...?"

Miroku nodded, beaming at her comprehension. She felt oddly proud that she'd made him look at her with such a commendatory expression, then quickly snapped out of it.

"Paradoxes are evil," she pouted.

"I've always thought so, yes," he said, stopping at the avenue that led to the Higurashi shrine. Kagome extracted her arm awkwardly, avoiding his eyes. Which left her standing there, facing him clumsily and feeling as though she was... expecting something. Expecting _what_?

"So..." he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"So..." she said, fingering the strap of her unusually light backpack.

What the hell was her problem? If she didn't know better, she'd say that... that she was acting as though they'd just been on a—

—_date_.

Were they? Had they? Did they?

"Have... fun," he said as though he'd suddenly realized the same thing.

Warily, she glanced left and right, then fixed her gaze on his face, which seemed lightly flushed even though a lantern was casting a long, thin shadow across it, and with no little surprise, Kagome realized—

—she didn't want to leave.

"I will," she said stupidly. "You, too."

They both cringed. What happened to the easy rapport they'd shared in Sengoku Jidai? With the exception of a few choice instances, Kagome had never felt this... panicky with the monk. _Ex_-monk. Gah!

"I'm sorry, Miroku-sama," she said sincerely, emphasizing the last word.

He smiled, and Kagome noticed—

His eyes were very pretty. And blue. And human. And pretty.

"Don't apologize," he said softly. "Blame Hojou-kun. It's his fault the entire city thinks we're..."

Kagome flushed. "You shouldn't be so mean to him. He's a nice boy. A little—a little overzealous, but, you know... tea."

Miroku snorted. "Fine. Go. You'll be late."

Kagome nodded, but couldn't move. "Please explain the situation to Yuka while I'm gone. She likes you, and even though she has no taste," they both grinned impishly, "she deserves to know the truth. And also, I don't want her to kill me. She knows where I live."

"Right. I'll be sure to tell her we met five hundred years ago and that you're in love with a half demon," he said, but the look in his eyes took the sting out of his words. "And after she has me committed, you can come visit me on Saturdays at the asylum."

Kagome grinned.

Then, realization hit. She was making excuses to stay. To keep talking to him, here, under the street lamp, in the darkening avenue, surrounded by parked cars and frolicking children.

"Do you want me to walk you to the well?" asked Miroku suddenly. Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed her hand and started walking her toward the shrine. "Tsk. I never knew you were afraid of the dark."

And while Kagome had never been particularly afraid of the dark, she _was_ afraid of how easily she'd surrendered and allowed him to guide her up the long, cracked flight of stairs.

So, it was no wonder that, as they ascended the stone steps, Kagome felt a little twinge of anticipation.

After all, she could talk to Miroku in _both_ worlds.


	5. Essentials

**Author's** **Notes**: I've overdosed on coffee. Watch me be Speedy Update Girl.

__

This chapter is for Cin, 'cause she used the word foreshadowing. And Mir, 'cause she thinks I'm cheating on her.

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**Chapter Three: _The Fundamentals_**

_The grand essentials of happiness are_:_ something to_

_do, something to love, and something to hope for_.

.

.

.

Buddha was shorter than Miroku had expected.

But the divine creator's stature didn't quite matter at the moment, because Miroku—Miroku had ascended to heaven and reached ultimate enlightenment, _at_ _last_.

This.

This is how it was supposed be. Always. Licking and slurping and suckling and—

Kagome was watching him, instructing him, guiding him, flushed and anticipative and—

It tasted much better than he'd hypothesized. Yes, it _was_ a bit messy and his inexperienced tongue wasn't familiar with the texture, but—

"Kagome-sama," he moaned between licks, "I feel I need to thank you for entrusting me with—"

"Shh!" she hissed urgently, but her voice sounded strangely muffled as Miroku bent down again.

It was thoroughly inexplicable. He was absolutely _gluttonous_. He'd seldom imagined he could actually feel this good; scarcely believed his first time would be with _Kagome_, and—

"Miroku-sama, faster, please!" she cried eagerly, her eyes glazing over in pleasure. "We have to finish before someone sees us."

"Moamwihseehas."

Kagome shifted with a tiny little moan, clutching the softening object in her hands. "Mmmhmm—what did you—oh!—say?"

Impatiently, Miroku tore his lips away, the tip of his tongue refusing to curl back. "I said (lick), no one (lick lick) will see us."

Kagome shivered. "Shippou might. And need I remind you how bad that would be?"

"What would?" asked a small, inquisitive voice.

Miroku froze.

The little kitsune in question had appeared before them without warning. Awkwardly, Miroku exchanged embarrassed glances with Kagome, who was blushing guiltily.

Well.

Perhaps—perhaps the child wouldn't notice—

"Kagome, what—ah! _Pocky_!" shouted Shippou, pointing a furious paw at the two. "My pocky! Why is Miroku eating my pocky? Kago_me_!"

Kagome offered the child a sheepish smile, rising cautiously and steadying herself against the tree that had been providing such adequate protection _thus_ far. "Shippou-chan," she hummed pleasantly. "I brought enough for everyone, but Miroku-sama hasn't had a chance to try these before and—"

But Shippou was already frantically digging through Kagome's backpack.

Miroku grinned.

Kagome narrowed her eyes. "Congratulations," she whispered. "And hey, before you leave, don't forget to take the knife out of my back. You'll probably need it again."

Miroku raised an amused eyebrow. "Are you implying I've stabbed you in the back?"

"Several times," pouted Kagome, balling up her fists. "First, you just _had_ to jinx us, and then—"

_Lick_.

Kagome trailed off, watching him incredulously as he licked her pocky again.

"I apologize," said Miroku happily. "I never should have doubted you, Kagome-sama. Delicious!"

Kagome flushed most horridly, and Miroku found his breath catching as a considerable amount of his blood rushed in a currently unwelcome direction. Squirming uncomfortably—and wondering why Kagome was still staring at him with that unfamiliar look dancing across her features—Miroku stepped away, coughing.

Which was most fortunate, really, because a very grumpy Inuyasha interrupted their less than idyllic scene within a minute. Almost immediately, the hanyou embarked on several very irritating, very loud, and, most importantly, very _long_, rants ("Stupid girl—food—jewel shards—hurry if we want to—I don't care—damn humans—kill you—runt—when's she coming back?—feh—idiot—").

"Inuyasha," warned Kagome eventually, nursing Shippou's fourteenth bump on the head, "I'll _say_ it."

Inuyasha scowled, crossed his arms, then dropped to the ground with a petulant pout. Soon, the two were bickering—though Miroku didn't find it nearly as amusing as usual—and the scene would have continued indefinitely had it not been for Shippou.

And his big mouth.

"Miroku licked Kagome," he'd said, and Miroku took those three little words as his cue to act invisible for the remainder of the day. Unfortunately, the sweet, tangy taste of strawberries and chocolate lingered with him—persistent and maddening. So, right before suppertime, Miroku found himself unconsciously mimicking Shippou's actions, and hungrily circling Kagome's backpack—which was left so carelessly underneath Inuyasha's tree, unguarded and defenseless and full of pocky.

"What are you looking for?" asked Inuyasha, one leg dangling from a branch.

Miroku grumbled. Then, noticing Inuyasha's matted hair, stifled a laugh. "How many times did she sit you?"

Inuyasha twitched and hopped off his precious tree. "None of your business."

Amused, Miroku shrugged. "I suppose not."

Inuyasha paused awkwardly for a moment, then snarled at the ground. "She was babbling about some stupid poké thing—"

"Pocky."

"I'm going to _kill_ you," warned Inuyasha, then continued. "And all I said was, 'Who gives a crap?' and she sat me. Then I said something else she didn't like—but I can't remember what—and she sat me again. Then that stupid runt said something about Kikyou so I... hurt him a little bit and she _triple_-sat me. Four times."

Miroku winced.

"Was it something I said?" asked Inuyasha obliviously.

Miroku sighed.

No. It wasn't his job to fix this. It wasn't. Kagome and Inuyasha needed to take care of this themselves and—

Crap.

"Look, just go back in there and—" he began, but Inuyasha cut him off rudely.

"Can't."

Miroku frowned. "Of course you can," he said slowly. "One foot in front of the other. It's called walking, Inuyasha."

Inuyasha growled impatiently. Miroku noted the guilty flush creeping up the hanyou's neck, as if he'd been caught doing something rather inappropriate—

"I'm going hunting," said Inuyasha confidently, though he seemed mildly flustered.

"I see," replied Miroku, calm. "For what?"

Inuyasha started uncomfortably, then quickly bared his fangs. "Stop meddling."

Miroku raised an eyebrow. "I certainly hope your outing will be of short duration. Will you return by suppertime?"

Inuyasha scowled. "No one'll miss me if I don't."

_Stupid, blind, melodramatic son of a_—

"Of course," said Miroku derisively.

Satisfied he was evidently off the hook, Inuyasha made to leave, but paused near one of the neighboring trees. "I can't have them both, right?"

Briefly, Miroku entertained the possibility. His eyes glazed over. Surely, the appeal of having two women—

No.

While Kagome might be willing to... erm, do anything for Inuyasha, _Kikyou_ definitely didn't seem the self-sacrificing type, as evidenced by her recent course of action. She was a selfish, bitter creature. Yes, her fate had been tragic, and yes, perhaps she and Inuyasha belonged together, but—

A small, lamenting sigh escaped Miroku's lips. How unfortunate Kagome hadn't fallen in love with _him_. _He_'d certainly find a way to appreciate her devoted disposition and—

Er...

What?

Miroku looked around in alarm. Inuyasha was staring at him, annoyed and jittery. Pulse racing, Miroku cleared his throat. "No. No, I suppose you can't," he replied finally, wondering why in Buddha's name he'd just thought... _that_. He'd never been in love; he quite hoped he never _would_ be, so why would he want Kagome to—especially considering Sango was—and—

"I strongly recommend you hurry back, Inuyasha," was all Miroku could say.

Inuyasha scoffed humorlessly. "Or what?" he asked, puffing out his chest.

Miroku paused for a second. "Or another hunter might come along to help relieve your burden."

Inuyasha observed him for a moment, frowning, then dismissed whatever thought he'd been pondering. "Doubtful, monk."

Miroku watched, irritated, as Inuyasha leapt away, with a countenance belonging to a man of great fortune and rank, of great promise and affluence, and blah, blah, blah. He hated him. He hated everything about him.

Wait.

Hated? He _hated_ Inuyasha? Why?

Aside from some initial altercations, Miroku had never disliked Inuyasha. Quite the contrary, he found the hanyou a suitable companion and ally. Occasionally, he'd even enjoy their comradely banter. And he'd learned to depend upon him. Hadn't Inuyasha saved his life—and vice versa—quite a number of times? So, why—

"Miroku-sama," said a cheerful voice.

Warily, Miroku spun on his heel. "Kagome-sama."

She cocked her head and beamed up at him. "You look—I'm sorry. There's no way to end that sentence without offending you," she grinned, then promptly grew serious. "What's wrong?" For a moment, that familiar concern flickered in her eyes, but Miroku was intent on ignoring it.

"Nothing's wrong," he said, proud of his delivery. "I was just... hey, I smell food."

Kagome waggled her index finger in his face. "Nuh uh, mister. No dinner until you tell me what—oh."

_She knows_.

Stiffly, Kagome glanced at the ground. "Where's... Inuyasha?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"He went to take a bath," he lied, schooling his features.

"Inuyasha? Bath?" she said with one of her patented smiles. Unfortunately, Miroku could now identify it as fake. "Nice try," she continued perkily, still smiling, "I do appreciate it, though, Miroku-sama." With a gentle nod, she turned away from him and began her trek back up the path, feigning cheerfulness.

Miroku felt as if _he_ were the one responsible for—for whatever the hell was going on.

Grumbling, he ran after her, mentally compiling ways to dispose of Inuyasha's corpse.

.

.

.

.

.

Dinner was a somber affair. Kaede insisted on keeping to herself, and Shippou devoured bowl after bowl of rice—succeeding in sharing most of his food with the ground in the process—while Kagome merely played with her chopsticks.

Miroku waited until Kaede bid them goodnight and Shippou drifted off to sleep, to announce to Kagome that, considering both Sango _and_ Inuyasha were away, he would stay in the same room—nudge nudge—to protect her—wink wink. When she didn't offer even a single protest ("Okay. Need a pillow, Miroku-sama?"), Miroku tried not to look so shocked. He watched her arrange her odd—though extremely cozy-looking—bedding, careful not to wake Shippou.

How?

How could it not bother her?

How could she just go about, acting as if Inuyasha was right outside, perched on his damn tree? How could she pretend—

Kagome was always upset with _Miroku_ when he, er... looked at other women in Sango's company. She was never tolerant of _Miroku's_ wandering eye. In fact, while Sango would simply slap or thwack him, Kagome would give him that reproaching, displeased glare, as if saying she thought he was _better_ than that. So, why, _why_ was she letting Inuyasha—

"When's Sango-chan coming back?" asked Kagome sleepily, fluffing one of those large, unbelievably comfortable pillows she'd brought with her.

Miroku bit his lip in concentration. "Two days, I expect."

Kagome hummed and burrowed under her coverlet. Shippou smacked his lips, still asleep, and curled up under the quilt with Kagome. Miroku narrowed his eyes. That child was _evil_, he just knew it—

"Do you miss her?" asked Kagome carefully.

"I'm sorry?" he frowned, watching stubbornly as Shippou snuggled Kagome's hand. Kagome, in turn, played with the little bow in the kitsune's hair, a tender smile softening her features.

"Do you miss Sango-chan?" she repeated, steadfastly ignoring his gaze.

Miroku paused. _Did_ he miss the demon exterminator? Certainly, he'd grown accustomed to her presence and her, well—her curves. But then again, he'd also grown accustomed to his companions leaving his side for prolonged periods of time. The only real constant in his life—since he'd started this pilgrimage—was... heh. Shippou.

"I'm sorry," said Kagome quickly, burying her head under the thick coverlet. "You don't have to answer that."

So, Miroku didn't. Instead, he settled down on the floor, wishing Kagome had been thoughtful enough to bring some of those fat pillows for everyone, and asked, in a low, nonchalant voice, "Why the sudden interest?"

Kagome peeked at him beneath her fluffy covers. "Um, what do you mean?"

Miroku shrugged one shoulder. "With all due respect, you've been acting a little strange recently." He grinned. "Well, not that you don't usually."

Kagome threw one of her pillows at him. He gladly accepted it as a peace offering, and made himself comfortable opposite her. "You know," he raised an amused eyebrow as he turned to face her from across the room, "I'm almost tempted to conclude all these odd questions—and scandalous behavior—are your way of telling me you're finally willing to bear me a son."

Kagome sat up abruptly, clutching her coverlet with a nervous frown. "You have to tell Sango how you feel."

Miroku blinked up at her.

What the—?

"You have to tell her before some stupid lord takes her away and—"

Miroku gaped at the girl. What was she talking about? Tell Sango what? He—he wasn't in love with her. Given time—which he knew he didn't have—he probably might begin to feel... strongly about Sango, but... he hadn't the impetus quite yet. She was certainly beautiful and competent and he was attracted to her, but he couldn't let himself—

"Miroku-sama?"

Miroku's head snapped up. "Kagome-sama," he began, "Sango should be allowed to make her own choices. With whomever. And _you_ should worry more about yourself."

Kagome flushed, but refused to look away from him. "No, Miroku-sama. You don't understand—"

"I do understand," he snapped, sitting up. "But you can't plan other people's lives for them just because yours isn't working out the way you—" he trailed off at the stricken look in her eyes.

Crap. What the hell had possessed him to say such a thing? Truthful thing, yes, but...

Kagome slid under the covers, turning her back to him. Guiltily, Miroku laid back down, thumping his head against his pillow in frustration. He'd never had trouble speaking to Kagome before. _Ever_. He was the straightforward type; she was the straightforward type—it'd been working out nicely thus far. Why was he experiencing this ineptitude now?

"You're such a jerk," came a muffled grumble. Miroku glanced at the squirming bump under the quilt. "Sango-chan is in love with you."

Miroku averted his eyes. Kagome sniffled and turned around again, gathering a very drowsy Shippou to her chest, as if seeking protection from the little kitsune. Realizing his chances of falling asleep were quite minimal for the time being, Miroku untangled the sheet that had somehow wrapped itself around him, and sat up.

"Did you really mean it?" he asked softly.

Kagome scrunched up her nose with a pout. "That you're a jerk? Yes."

Miroku smirked. "No, about..."

Kagome sniffled again. "Yes."

Miroku wasn't certain how to feel. So, predictably, he pushed this disquieting information as far back as he dared. He just—he hadn't really planned on something like this. He'd fancied himself _safe_, what with his promiscuous behavior and all. He thought his constant groping could have one of only _two_ possibilities. It would most likely gradually (or instantly) push women away. Or, (and he generally preferred this one), it would lead to gratuitous obscenity and much fun. There was no third option in his father's reference book. So, troubled and guilt-ridden, Miroku watched Kagome as she stared at an invisible spot on the wall behind him.

"Miroku," she said suddenly. "I have another question."

Miroku groaned.

Kagome paused thoughtfully. "Remember when you, erm, kidnapped me?"

Oh, crap. "Uh huh."

"How did you know to ride my bike?"

Miroku blinked. Then blinked again. Slowly, his shoulders began shaking with repressed laughter. Within a second, he was laughing loudly and happily and comfortably, and Kagome was scowling at him.

"Jerk," she mumbled, but the corners of her lips were twitching suspiciously.

"I'm sorry," said Miroku, still chuckling. "It's just—unexpected question—and—I don't know. I suppose I'm simply exceedingly adaptive," he grinned wickedly.

Dubious, Kagome eyed him. Shippou shifted next to her, wrapping his little paws around Kagome's fingers. "I mean, I've been wondering," she pouted, " 'cause one moment, I'm standing there, and the next, I meet this weird guy who's trying to ride off into the sunset. On my bike."

With an almost-wistful look flickering in her eyes, Kagome glanced at him. "Strange first meeting, wouldn't you agree?"

Miroku raised both eyebrows. _She's been thinking about this? Why?_

"Ah. Kagome-sama," he grinned playfully, "I regret correcting you, but that wasn't our first meeting."

Kagome blinked. "What do you—"

A very wicked smile tugged his lips up as he reminisced.

_Lake_. _Moonlight_. _Glistening_ _breasts_. _Wet_—

"Unhn," he drawled lazily, his throat dry. "I'd noticed you the night before." Pause. "You were naked."

Another pillow flew toward him, but he ducked in time.

"Stop saying that!" she screeched, waking a very disgruntled Shippou, who turned over and went right back to sleep, mumbling about dogs and pocky-thieves.

He smiled innocently. "It's true. You were bathing."

She paled. "So, you... you saw me—"

Miroku beamed wickedly. "First of many delightful sights, I assure you." He paused, bringing two fingers to his chin pensively. "Of course, the very next day, you jumped me. So, really, one can't blame a man for assuming—"

Kagome moaned, miserable. "I did that because you were three seconds away from killing Inuya..." she sighed.

No, no, _no_. _I'm not letting you_—

"Perhaps," mused Miroku playfully, then quickly segued into, "though I do seem to remember catching a very tantalizing glimpse of your lovely—"

"Miroku!"

"Good night, Kagome-sama," he grinned, and wrapped the sheet around himself, nuzzling into the soft cushions.

He could have sworn he'd heard her giggle, but the sandman had tapped his shoulder, so Miroku obediently drifted off, dreaming of strawberries, odd metal contraptions, and a very angry Sango.

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Morning found Miroku struggling out of his tangled sheets, facing the end of a very pointy sword.

"Monk," greeted Inuyasha, his fangs bared and his Tetsusaiga gleaming dangerously. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, sleeping here?" he asked, clearly fighting to keep control.

Miroku scratched his eyebrow, pushing the Tetsusaiga away from his face. With an exaggerated yawn—during which his brain searched for an answer that _wouldn't_ get him castrated—he stretched and glanced at Kagome, who seemed both concerned and pleased.

Hmm. _Probably_ _happy_ _Inuyasha's_ _acting_ _jealous_.

"Not all of us are as apt when it comes to sleeping in trees," said Miroku finally, then, oddly enough, decided to retaliate. "I presume you slept well last night, Inuyasha?"

Inuyasha backed off, growling. "I've heard about a shard north from here. We're leaving."

And so they did, bidding Kaede a rushed farewell.

Inuyasha was sullen for most of the day, complaining about their lack of shards and grumbling about Kagome's silence and cackling wildly when Shippou tripped and fell over a jagged rock. Miroku, on the other hand, had decided to walk ahead, enjoying the quasi-solitude. In time, he realized the southeast winds were picking up; a flurry of petals and dandelion seeds streamed past him, and an insistent breeze made his robes flutter about him, cooling him down and—

Kagome sneezed.

With an achingly evil smile, Miroku turned around, his eyes roaming purposefully. After all, if the winds were picking up, there were other—flimsy, short, enticing—things that were bound to ripple and tremble and expose certain—

Kagome sneezed again, but this time, as he was facing her directly, Miroku could see her totter precariously for a moment, then steady herself as Shippou whimpered softly.

"Kagome-sama?" he asked worriedly, forgetting all about sneaking a peek.

She sniffled. "I'm fine."

Inuyasha turned around, scowling, but his features softened instantly. Kagome's hair was flying all over the place and her cheeks were dangerously flushed. "What's wrong with you _now_?" he asked viciously, but his voice was edged with concern.

"Nothing!" lied Kagome, swaying on her feet. Lightning-fast, Inuyasha caught her, lifting her off the ground. Hesitant to intrude, Miroku approached the two as Shippou scurried up his robes and perched himself on Miroku's shoulder.

"You have a fever, Kagome-sama," said Miroku, reaching out to touch her forehead.

"No, I don't," she fretted, trying to push herself away from both Inuyasha and Miroku.

"What's wrong with Kagome? Ka_go_me?" whined Shippou.

Miroku hummed. "We should return her to Kaede-sama's."

"But I'm okay—"

"Fine," agreed Inuyasha shortly.

"But I—"

"You're faster," said Miroku. "You take her back and catch up with me."

"I—"

"No way," said Inuyasha, "I'm not trusting you to get my shard, monk. I'll get the damn thing myself. You stay in the village with her."

"Does no one care what I—"

"Why should _I_ stay with her—?" asked Miroku huffily, feeling strangely apprehensive.

"Because Sango's not around to take care of Kagome if Kaede has to leave!" snarled Inuyasha.

Grumbling, Miroku acquiesced, but had to ask. "Since when do you trust me alone with Kagome-sama?"

Crickets chirped.

"Since _she_ seems to," answered Inuyasha finally, and Kagome gave a soft gasp.

And as they began traveling back towards Kaede's village, Miroku pondered Inuyasha's words. The hanyou was certainly perceptive when. No. One. Asked. Him. To. Be.

But it seemed to be true. Kagome did appear to... trust Miroku.

A surprised, flustered laugh rolled off his lips.

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Miroku spent the late afternoon bored out of his mind.

Kagome was feverish and sleeping. Inuyasha hadn't returned yet. Neither had Sango. And Shippou... Shippou was rambling aimlessly, sketching butterflies and Kitty!Kagome and, strangely enough—something Miroku had never seen Shippou draw—a sleek, black feline.

A sleek, black feline which bore a remarkable resemblance to Miroku.

Miroku amused himself for a few minutes, watching as the little kitsune drew a very pink Kagome tugging on the other kitten's tail ("That's you!" clapped Shippou happily), then made his way inside Kaede's hut.

Fleetingly, he wished Sango were back so he'd have someone to talk to, but then remembered how strained and awkward their conversations tended to be. Quietly, he searched for Kaede-sama—and upon finding the hut empty of all its occupants, with the exception of Kagome—Miroku knelt down beside the mat.

Kagome squirmed, and turned on her side, her eyes closed.

_She's_ _sleeping_._ So_. _I should go_.

But he didn't. Instead, he sat peacefully for a while, meditating. He was partially successful in reflecting upon some of his more abstract musings, when—

"I hate that he thinks he knows best," came a soft whisper. Startled, Miroku opened his eyes and tried to focus. Kagome was curled up childishly before him, looking at her splayed fingers.

"I hate that I can't hate him," she continued softly, a lock of hair clinging to her cheek, caught up in moisture.

Miroku leaned his head against the wall, touching his cold staff to his damp forehead. Why was she telling him this? The fever. The fever was certainly a likely source of this sudden need to confide in him. But why—

"And I'm sorry," she whimpered. "Do you hate me?"

Miroku stared at her. "Why would I hate you?"

"Because I told you about Sango," she mumbled feverishly. "You probably wanted to hear it from her. I spoiled it. I'm sorry."

Inexplicably, Miroku found himself—

—tucking her in. He was tucking her in.

"Like I said before, Kagome-sama," he told her blandly, "you should worry about yourself." And though he found the idea oddly unappealing, he suggested, "Perhaps you ought to go home for a while."

She untucked a corner he'd folded, and shut her eyes tightly. "I want to..." she said, and Miroku frowned.

"...I've noticed," he said before he could stop himself. And then, reasoning she probably wouldn't remember once her fever withdrew, he added, "So, who is he?"

Kagome's eyes shot open. "What?"

Miroku observed her for a moment. Everything had fallen into place. After all, Kagome _had_ been smiling entirely too much for someone who'd just had her heart broken. And though, in the beginning, Miroku was certain her smiles and cheerful attitude were generally a pretense, now...

Now he thought otherwise.

_There's someone else_.

Inexplicably angered by this sudden insight, Miroku inched closer to watch her features for any signs of dishonesty.

Kagome sneezed, then burrowed deeper into the bundle of flowery covers. Since it seemed she wouldn't answer him, Miroku poked her.

"I have a fever. Go away," she pouted.

Miroku grinned. "I see. Tell me and I'll leave you to rest."

Kagome pushed away her covers in frustration. "You're so...so..."

"Irresistible?" he smirked.

"Annoying!" she shivered, so Miroku bundled her up again, enjoying her discomfort. He pondered the opportunity that had presented itself to him so readily—Kagome, alone with him, practically naked...

Kagome sneezed miserably.

_Sigh_.

"I want to go home because—" she sniffled, "I don't want to run into Kikyou. She's been visiting Kaede a lot lately."

Miroku tilted his head. "Hmm. Why do you think she's doing that?"

Kagome averted her eyes. "I don't know. But I don't want to be in the same room with her."

And though the answer was obvious, Miroku still felt compelled to ask. "Why?"

She didn't even flinch, surprising him greatly. "Because," she mumbled. "You know what happens when people see us together."

"No, what happens?" he grinned, pulling the covers up to her chin so as to distract himself from her bare shoulder and the slipping garment she wore.

She huffed, swatting his hands away. "You _know_. They look at me, then at her, then back at me and go, 'Hey, you kinda look like her. Only not as pretty.'"

Miroku chuckled. That certainly wasn't the answer he'd expected. Then again, this little girl wasn't quite as predictable as he would have liked.

"It's not funny," she said, then sneezed again. "You don't know what it's like to be treated as someone's reincar... umh, that is to say..."

Miroku watched an odd little blush spread across her rosy cheeks.

"She's not," he said, tucking her in again.

Kagome looked up at him, blinking. "What?"

"She's not prettier," he said thoughtfully, then quickly—

—hightailed it out of there.

With a flustered exhale, Miroku leaned against the hut, the cool breeze a comfortable relief on his skin. Why—why did he say that? And more importantly, why the hell did he leave? He'd just given Kagome a compliment—and he only indulged in those when he planned on succeeding them with his "Will you bear my child?" routine. That was their _only_ purpose—compliments, they didn't...

Compliments were useless.

_Stop_... _thinking_... _idiot_.

And so, in the spirit of procrastination, Miroku, the monk, left in search of nubile village women who could entertain him until either one of his companions returned. It was during one such—particularly delightful—stroll through the thicket surrounding the hot springs—and several bathing women, of course—that Miroku was ambushed by a pleased-looking Inuyasha.

"Got it," was all he said, puffing out his chest as though awaiting praise. When none came, he scowled at Miroku—who was quite absorbed in his task—and said, in a disgusted voice, "How can you look at that? They're ugly."

Miroku gasped theatrically. "Why, Inuyasha, I'm afraid you don't understand at all."

Inuyasha scoffed, but peeked over Miroku's shoulder. One of the women shrieked happily, splashing the other two, oblivious to the men watching them. Inuyasha squirmed.

Miroku smirked. "Inuyasha, my friend," he said, patting the hanyou on the back. "I'm glad to see you've finally grasped the importance of that old adage."

Inuyasha flushed uncomfortably. "Yeah? Which one, monk?"

Miroku grinned. "Beauty lies in the girl with the biggest breasts."

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Two days later, Sango and Kirara returned, fatigued and disheveled, but in a satisfied frame of mind.

So, Miroku, of course, took the opportunity to greet the demon exterminator the only way he knew how, and was rewarded accordingly.

Kagome, on the other hand, was finally out of bed (though Miroku briefly noted the wet weather was dangerous for her), and Shippou was complaining how Sango never thought of him ("_Kagome_ always brings me something back!"), while Inuyasha nudged them all ever so subtly ("LET'S FUCKING GO ALREADY!") to head south.

So, as they walked along a slippery road, getting soaked by the warm spring rain, Miroku couldn't help but observe Kagome as she chatted with Sango. She was twirling a very absurd-looking object she called an umbrella while a drowsy Kirara trailed behind them, swishing her tails.

And then, Kagome whispered something to Sango, and Sango promptly blushed, so Miroku scooted closer to Inuyasha, in an unprecedented show of fraternal affinity. Kagome scowled at them.

"What was that all about?" hissed Inuyasha.

Miroku scratched his chin sheepishly.

"Eh!" chirped Kagome abruptly, apparently blissful now that the group was complete once again. "You guys don't understand how useful umbrellas are, do you?"

Sango gave her an odd little smile.

"For instance," said Kagome happily, "one of these (point point) can protect _two_ people."

Miroku narrowed his eyes.

"So," continued Kagome, oblivious to the fact that Inuyasha had paused and was now sniffing the air suspiciously. "I was thinking, since Sango-chan deserves it most, she should have mine. Of course, considering it can, in fact, shelter _two_ peo—"

"Shut up," growled Inuyasha, tensing next to Miroku.

"I don't sense any demons," said Miroku warily.

"Hey, don't tell me to shut—"

"Not demons. _Humans_," Inuyasha grunted in affirmation. "Many of them."

The entire group fell silent, waiting. Soon, what looked like a modest regiment approached, slowing their march as they spotted Inuyasha. The infantry—no less than twenty men—were all wearing dark robes and insignia Miroku couldn't quite place.

He watched, baffled, as one of the men fixed his eyes on Sango and, with a flick of his hand, ordered the rest to kneel before her.

"I hope I am correct in assuming you are Sango-dono... along with the demon-hunter party?"

"Yes?" Miroku answered for her, his eyebrows drawing together suspiciously.

The man dropped to the ground, as the remainder of his company bowed respectfully. "I serve the Takeda family," he said to the wet gravel. "My name is Asahi Miwanosuke."

Sango seemed disconcerted, so Miroku took a step closer. The man bowed again. "My apologies, Sango-dono. I—I am here to speak with you concerning a very serious matter."

Sango seemed to echo everyone's sentiments when she said, "Eh...?"

"We—" continued the man, his words coming out in an almost frantic rush, "—we require your assistance. We need you to exterminate a demon that has been appearing every night near—near our castle. We don't care how you do it. We won't mind minor damage to our castle if—"

Miroku's eyes widened greedily. "Castle?" he murmured.

Kagome was strangely quiet, looking about with apprehensive eyes.

The man reached inside his dusty robes and displayed a satchel of coins.

Lots... of... coins.

"We will pay this much," said the man, looking up at Sango anxiously, as if he were failing his ambiguous mission. "More if you are successful."

Sango gripped her weapon, squirming uncomfortably.

Miroku eyed the proffered reward. "This is ten... no, _twenty_ _times_ the usual amount."

Sango nodded her head. "I'm sorry," she told the man awkwardly. "It just sounds too good to be t—"

"Nonsense!" said a new, deeply amused voice.

Miroku looked toward the edge of the faded path. A man—slightly ruffled, but grinning despite his battered stature—stood watching. He was leaning against his ornate horse—a sure sign of either nobility or thievery—and tapping his protective hood in greeting.

"Long time no see, Sango," he said, approaching lazily.

Sango blinked, flustered. "Uh... who...?"

Kagome was at Sango's side in a flash. "Sango-chan? You—you don't remember him?" she asked, and glanced at the man nervously, eyeing him with a curiously distressed expression.

Shippou, clinging to Kagome, yelped giddily. "She totally forgot about him!"

Sango colored. "I haven't—I just don't—"

"Well," grinned the man. "One can't blame her," he said, and in an impressive instant, Sango's hands were resting in his.

"It was a very long time ago, after all," whispered the man, though his voice was clearly distinguishable to the entire gathering.

Miroku frowned thoughtfully.

Kagome, who'd been staring at the scene and blushing, balled up her fists. "Who does this guy think he—"

Sango said nothing. She stood there, her cheeks pink, as Kirara gave a soft mewl in the man's general direction.

The man, clearly smitten (Miroku wondered at the fleeting sense of relief and mild regret), smiled gently at Sango. Sango flushed, averting her eyes.

Kagome seethed.

"My apologies. I quite neglected to introduce myself, haven't I?" asked the man softly. "My name is Takeda. Takeda Kuranosuke. I am the k—"

"_NO_!" shouted Kagome.

Miroku glanced at her apprehensively. Was she—was she _trembling_? Had her fever returned? What was wrong? Why did she look as though—

"I—I have to go home!" she continued absentmindedly as she frantically searched through her backpack.

"What do you think you're—" began Inuyasha as the rest of the assembled onlookers blinked at the girl's antics.

"Kirara?" whispered Kagome shakily, detaching a frazzled Shippou from her sleeve. With a glance at Sango, Kagome handed the little kitsune to Inuyasha, and hastily climbed onto Kirara's back, wrapping her arms around the demon's neck as if she were afraid of falling.

And as he—once again—watched Kagome disappear into the foggy horizon, Miroku wondered why he was so concerned about her when _Sango_ was the one currently in need of assistance.


	6. Measure

**Author's** **Notes**: Just a quick note to say that—since school is starting—I won't be able to update very often. Well, no, that's not quite true. If I hate my classes, I'll probably update _more_ often. But you know. Must not... lose... interest. Look! Blue car!

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**Chapter Four: _The_ _Rhythm_**

_To measure the man, measure his heart_.

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Mr. Simian, Kagome's stuffed black gorilla, flew across the room.

Pillowcases, rumpled. Lamp, overturned. Alarm clock, broken beyond repair. Message board, askew.

But no phone.

God! Where _was_ her stupid, idiotic, _stupid_ phone?

Frustrated, Kagome hopped off her bed, tossing a very surprised-looking Mr. Simian to a bookshelf with a reckless grunt. Phone, phone, _phone_. _Must find phone, must call_—

Kagome froze mid-toss, one hand clutching a stack of recycled notebooks.

She'd planned on calling Miroku, but—

"I don't... I don't know the number," she breathed, curling up amidst scattered papers, pink fluffy pencils, and various assorted furnishings, most of which had seen better days. Buyo, Kagome's overgrown monster of a cat, poked his head in, pushing the door ajar. With a miserable mewl, he padded over to his owner, managing to climb onto Kagome's lap on his third attempt.

Kagome scratched behind his ear absentmindedly.

What had she done?

Made a spectacle of herself, _that's_ _what_. Again. After all, she'd deserted her friends, literally fled the premises, practically dived into the well, ran across the shrine's grounds like an absolute lunatic—and had been quite successfully pelted by an incredibly annoying, incredibly humid spring shower—and for what?

Begrudgingly, Kagome realized a certain truth, one that both irked and flustered her.

_I was scared_.

Which was ridiculous, really. Because, well, come on. Since she'd been so kindly introduced to feudal Japan by a severely neurotic centipede demon, Kagome had seen so much. Death threats and mortal peril were like a routine now. She'd quite developed a penchant for graceful poise under pressure and—and—and was presumably _used_ to the numerous risks associated with life in the demon-infested warring era.

So, why?

"Nee-chan?" said a concerned voice from the doorway.

Kagome looked up.

"Souta," she murmured inconsolably. No. Not even her helpful little brother could fix this—fix _her_—at the moment.

Warily, Souta's eyes inspected Kagome's room. With raised eyebrows, the boy slowly approached the disaster area, careful to avoid dozens of glittery thumbtacks. "Um," he began gingerly, tripping over a computer wire, "I'm going to assume you found out."

Kagome blinked. "What?"

Souta scuffed his toe in the carpet. "I didn't mean to do it, really I didn't, but—I couldn't help it—please don't be angry—I—"

Baffled, Kagome stood up and tilted her head. What'd he do that was so_—wait_.

_Prioritize_!

"I'm not angry," she told him desperately, watching with a frown as Souta visibly relaxed. "I'm just looking for the phone."

Souta gaped at her like a very drowsy trout. He glanced around the room—the broken alarm clock, the tangled sheets, the scattered papers—as if trying to assure himself he wasn't seeing things. "The phone? The phone that's in the kitchen?"

"Oh! The _kitchen_!" she said, darting for the door.

"Wait, Kagome!" Souta ran after her. "What happened to your room? Why do you need the phone? Don't you want to know what I did? What's wrong? How come you came home so early?" Here, the siblings quickly rounded the kitchen corner. "Kagome? Kagome? Nee-chan! What's going on? Should I go get grandpa? Kagome, it's just a phone!"

Finally, after a few agonizing moments, during which she wondered why her own house—where she grew up, where she was _still_ growing up—was feeling so foreign, Kagome located her precious phone, noting with embarrassment that she'd completely forgotten about Grandfather's archaic contraption in the corner.

Her fingers wrapped sheepishly around the gray handle. "I still don't know the number," she said to no one in particular.

Souta leaned on one of the cabinets, trying to catch his breath. "Number? What? _Who_ are you trying to call?"

Kagome pondered briefly whether she, too, had a tendency to ask a million and one question. 

_Nah_.

"Just a friend," she said, biting her lip in concentration.

"But you don't know the number? What kind of a friend is that?" wondered Souta childishly.

Kagome winced.

And that was... exactly _it_. She was heavily aware of a sliver of cognizance, pressing and pushing forward, burning down that last bit of pretense. Up until now, she'd tried to ignore 'Yasuo Kazuo', grasping at the possibility that perhaps, possibly, maybe, just maybe, he wasn't real. Wasn't Miroku. So, she'd mentally treated him as a figment of her imagination (though, admittedly, a persistent, annoyingly charming one)—hadn't really asked anything about his life, his current situation, or his feelings in general.

Subconsciously, she'd treated him as a duplicate, as... as a cleverly-made imitation that wasn't quite as important as the original—

She'd treated him the way Kikyou had treated _her_.

Oh.

"Nee-chan?" asked Souta worriedly, grasping her forearms with his chubby little fingers. "Should I go find the phone book?"

Kagome hugged her little brother closer, inhaling shakily. "I don't think he's listed. His family moved here just a few months ago."

Souta squirmed, trying to extract himself from her death grip as politely as possible. "Are you talking about that guy that walked you home last week?"

Abruptly, Kagome let go of Souta, who stumbled back slightly as she fixed her eyes on his. "What?"

He rubbed his elbows with a pout. "The guy from your school. I recognized the uniform," he beamed. "You know, that guy. The one you were sitting with on the well?"

Kagome's eyes widened. "Yes," she breathed, surprised.

"Oh," said Souta happily. "Then, what's the problem?"

Kagome blinked. Then blinked some more. "What do you mean? I don't know his number," she paused for a second. "D'you mean to say I should call the school and ask for—"

Souta blinked at her. "No," he said, looking at her as if _she_ were the baby of the family, "I'm saying you _have_ his number. He left it with Grandpa last week."

Kagome froze. _What_?

"When you left," Souta elaborated, walking away and waving his hands. "We were curious. I mean, at first, Grandpa thought you finally told that Hojou guy the truth or something—what with letting him see you jump into the well and all—but I told him that wasn't Hojou—" he babbled absentmindedly, rummaging through a cabinet drawer. "So, then, of course, Grandpa panicked and ran outside with his broom, asking your... friend what was going on, and then—" Souta trailed off and grinned triumphantly, pulling out a crinkled piece of paper.

Kagome's heart sped up. She _knew_ that handwriting. She _liked_ that handwriting. She liked it a lot.

"And then?" she demanded anxiously.

Souta walked over to her, stuffing the paper in her hands and shrugging. "I don't know. One moment, Grandpa's aiming his broom, and the next, he's talking to the guy about kappa demons and the Go-Shinboku tree and barrier scrolls and Kagome, who _is_ that guy?"

But Kagome had stopped listening. The note in her hand, the one with a certain string of numbers and old fashioned Kanji—

He'd known? No. He couldn't have. But he'd thought ahead.

Wrinkling her nose in concern, Kagome flinched. Miroku was smart. And observant. And he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. So... he'd probably noticed how badly she'd treated him, how superficial and brief she'd been with him.

Ugh.

Incredibly nervous all of a sudden, Kagome ignored Souta's huffy protests ("Answer me, Nee-chan!"), and slowly dialed the number. After three rings—and a hundred heartbeats—the only rational thought going through her head was—

_Hang_ _up_, _hang_ _up_, _hang_ _up_.

Unexpectedly, an older male voice greeted her with a traditional, "Moshi-moshi."

Kagome's throat was dry. "May I please speak to Miroku-sama?"

_Oy! Rude-girl, how about introducing yourself first? Or at least greeting the man __properly?_

Fortunately, the voice on the other end didn't seem to mind her bad manners. "There's no one here by that name," he said, though Kagome could've sworn a curious sort of panic was creeping into his voice, his words coming out in an uncomfortable, succinct rush.

"Wh—oh," Kagome flushed, humiliated and a little frightened. "I'm sorry. I meant to say Kazuo-kun. May I please speak with—"

"He's not home," said the man—presumably, his father—and Kagome's chest constricted almost painfully. She _had_ to see Miroku.

"Can you please tell him Higurashi Kagome called," she whispered, then added, half to herself. "It's kind of an emergency."

The man on the other end was silent for a terrifyingly long moment. Finally, he asked, in a suspicious, worried voice, "Kagome?"

Kagome froze, a sudden thought chilling her to the core. Did—

Did Miroku's parents know?

More importantly, did they _believe_ him?

And, oh... he'd said—Miroku had said he'd missed three years of school. Why? If he remembered it all, and if he hadn't kept it to himself as a child—did his parents—did they...

Why hadn't she _asked_?

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

"Yes," she said weakly, waiting for a reply. When none came, she shut her eyes tightly. "Higurashi Kagome."

"Okay," said the man numbly. "We'll... _I'll_ make sure he calls you back when he gets home."

Kagome really wanted to ask a zillion and one question—and, of course, apologize, as she'd obviously made a very bad first impression on Miroku's dad—but said instead, "Thank you."

She hung up listlessly, feeling incredibly tired. Could she do _nothing_ right?

"Kagome?" asked her grandfather as he shuffled into the kitchen, carrying a stack of newspapers. "What are you doing home?"

Kagome rushed to his side. "Jii-chan!" The old man eyed her warily. Quickly, Kagome began pestering him for talking to her friends, and he immediately started defending himself ("It's _not_ impossible for a person to survive the plague, you know!"), so she kindly explained that she just wanted to know more about his conversation with 'Kazuo-kun.'

"Oh, him," said grandpa, nodding approvingly. "Smart boy. Didn't believe me about the Go-Shinboku's curse."

Kagome bit her lip. "What—what else did you two talk about?"

Grandpa shrugged, roaming the kitchen. "I tried to sell him one of the Shikon Jewel keychains," he paused thoughtfully. "Smart boy."

"You said that already," she said, trying not to grin.

"Why'd you tell him about the well?" asked the old man suddenly. Kagome's smile faded as she scampered off, pretending she hadn't heard him.

Consequently, she spent the late afternoon hiding out in her room, thinking. And trying to _distract_ herself from said activity. She'd caught up on homework, took a long bubble bath, listened to the rain outside, ignored the mess she'd made, waited for her mother to come home and start dinner, and—

—was bored out of her wits. As meager as they were at the moment.

She was half tempted to go back to Sengoku Jidai and spill everything to Miroku, who'd clearly assume she was insane (as if he hadn't already), and send her back home to rest.

And just as she was preparing to pull her hair out, Souta's voice echoed dimly in the hallway behind her closed door.

"That's her room," he said, and Kagome sat up in bed, pulse racing wildly.

"Thanks," said a familiar voice, sounding peculiarly out of breath.

And before Kagome could jump out of her skin, the door to her bedroom opened and—

He was wet. And flushed. And so incredibly worried.

_Did he run here_?

Souta raised a curious eyebrow, but reluctantly forced himself to leave. Kagome stood up slowly, approaching the door and the very apprehensive-looking Miroku.

"What's wrong?" he panted, leaning against her doorway, trying to catch his breath.

He _had _rushed here. In that evil rain.

Because she'd told his father it was an emergency? _He_ was worried about _her_?

Something within Kagome's chest loosened most pleasantly. She exhaled deeply, and—

"Oompf!"

Having tackled him so expertly, Kagome let the words come out in a rush. "Miroku," she mumbled into his wet hair. "We met him. We met Kuranosuke-sama. We met him. Just like you said. He—and we—and—"

Um.

Mentally reprimanding herself, Kagome noted with embarrassment exactly what she was doing. And more importantly, what Miroku _wasn't_ doing. She lifted her head slightly to see his face. He was staring up at the ceiling with an incredibly relieved expression softening his features.

For the briefest of moments, Kagome felt inexplicably grateful.

He was here. Miroku was here. And—and why couldn't she decide whether she was happy about it or not? On the one hand, he was alive, he was here, and he was with her. On the _other_ hand, if he was with her _here_...

He wouldn't be with her _there_. Especially not now that they'd met Kuranosuke-sama and—

Flushing, Kagome burrowed deeper into his shoulder, tightening her arms around his neck, hoping frantically she could find a way to prevent whatever had happened to him. _Will happen to him_.

She could feel Miroku's chest beneath her, rising and falling with a sharp exhale. His arms finally wrapped around her waist, slowly, gently, one hand tracing a long line up her spinal column. "I promise you," he said uneasily, "it won't happen for a while. I promise."

Kagome smiled against his wet shirt, feeling as though something very heavy, very ominous had been lifted off her chest. She was so relieved, in fact, that she let herself relax against him completely, lulled and mollified by his soothing murmuring and—

"Miroku," she breathed, startled. "If you don't get your hand away from there, I'll—"

She could feel the smirk in his voice as he said, "I am not now, nor have I ever been, virtuous." And to demonstrate, he arched beneath her (Why wasn't she _trying. To. Get. Up_?). His fingers slid lower. "I take pride in that," he murmured quietly.

Kagome gave a soft gasp. Her skin was tingling with an unusual sort of itch where he'd touched her. Slowly, Miroku nuzzled her cheek, and she could practically taste his next words as a wet lock of dark hair brushed against her jaw. "You know I don't feel the need to defend myself on a regular basis."

His hands slipped lower, lower, sliding and creeping down her hips, trailing continuous, horrifyingly captivating little caresses and—

"Will your friend be staying for dinner, dear?"

Kagome wondered why Satan resembled her mother.

Because this had to be hell. Why else would Kagome essentially be _straddling_ Miroku with her _mother_ standing in the hallway, hands full of grocery bags?

"I would have knocked," said Mrs. Higurashi helpfully, adjusting one of the bags in her arms, "but..." Ambiguously, she gestured vaguely at Kagome's completely open door. "And, well, you two are practically spilling out into the hallway anyway."

Burning with humiliation, Kagome noted that, yes, they were indeed lying flat across the threshold, their upper extremities poking into the narrow corridor. She was tempted to jump up and say, '_He_ started it, Mommy!', but Mrs. Higurashi was already walking away with an absentminded little nod.

Kagome blanched. Well. Um. As far as first impressions on each other parents' went... ow.

"You were asking for it," was Miroku's only defense, though his cheeks seemed suspiciously pink.

Lightning-fast, Kagome removed herself from this vile, depraved, deranged... wet, cute—

"So!" she snapped angrily. "You're staying for dinner."

He grinned, sitting up. "Yes, mistress."

Kagome's head exploded.

"Do you mind if I take a shower first?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with completely fake innocence. "I don't want to catch a cold."

Kagome spied his drenched clothes and wet hair. But... informal and... naked...

"You _are_ welcome to join me," he continued wickedly, standing up and tugging his shirt over his head. "If you don't trust me alone in your bathroom, that is."

Kagome spun around so fast she could almost see an entire constellation before her eyes. "No, no. You—go—and—I'm going... kitchen?"

She was out of her room before she could even think to tell that evil person where the towels were. Preoccupied, she barely noticed her mother unpacking one of the larger paper bags.

"Kagome, where's your friend?" she asked happily.

Kagome turned every color of the rainbow. "Well, you see... storm. And... um, shower."

Mrs. Higurashi nodded, "I see!"

Kagome, on the other hand, didn't. "You... don't mind?"

Mrs. Higurashi buried her head in the fridge, fidgeting with the fresh vegetables. "If it means you spend more time at home, no," she said nonchalantly, but wouldn't meet Kagome's eyes.

Kagome's breath caught. _Can't think about my family now_. Completing the Shikon Jewel was her priority. Her duty. Her destiny. Her—

"Hey! Pocky! Thank you, Mama!" she squealed, clapping her hands happily.

Her mother smiled pleasantly. "Shouldn't you put his clothes in the dryer?"

Kagome blinked, having reached for a delicious, precious pocky. "Eh?"

"What's your friend going to wear when he gets out of the shower if his clothes are wet? Defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

Blushing furiously at the image that was refusing to leave her head, Kagome tapped her fingers nervously.

"Friend?" said Grandpa excitedly, poking his head in the kitchen, "Which one? Which one?"

Kagome mumbled under her breath, ignoring her grandfather's yip of delight ("I've been meaning to ask him about protective wards—").

So, naturally, young Kagome—being so very kindhearted (and, also, being so very forced by her mother)—returned to her room with a hesitant sort of spring in her step.

How—how hard could it possibly be? All she had to do was—run in, grab clothes, run out, wait in kitchen for fully-clothed boy. _E_asy!

Encouraged by the simplicity of her profound genius, Kagome skipped into her room, zooming in on a neat pile of clothes and—

—the very white, very tiny towel.

Towel in front of her. Towel covering a dripping Miroku. Towel, _small_.

Startled, Miroku turned around, his tanned skin glistening with tiny beads of water.

Incoherent and aghast, Kagome had planned on saying, 'Ah! Why are you parading around my room almost-naked, you big, nasty pervert, you!', but, mysteriously, her cool reprimand came out as a horridly embarrassed, "Towel!"

Miroku raised a nonchalant eyebrow, one hand gripping the knot in the towel that kept Kagome from exploding. "Right, towel. What's your point?"

Kagome's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I give up."

Miroku chuckled merrily. "Really?" he asked, turning to face her fully. "Take off your clothes, then."

Kagome's central nervous system shorted out.

Smirking, Miroku walked past her, patting her head. "That's what we unrepressed people call a joke. You should really take a page out of my book. And... what the hell happened to your room?"

Kagome switched from embarrassment to anger within a second. "I was looking for the phone!" was all she could say without contacting the yakuza and putting out a hit on Miroku.

Miroku, for his part, looked about dubiously. "What, with a bulldozer?"

Kagome balled up her fists. "Yeah, uh huh—and—how come you came over so fast, hmm?"

Miroku seemed taken aback, and for a moment, the only sound filling the room was that of their breathing.

Kagome couldn't take it anymore. The questions pooling inside her just detonated the last of her resolve. "Do your parents know? How is this possible? Does your father think I'm crazy or something? Don't you think this is too much of a coincidence? Why can you remember? Was it the jewel? Did you wish for something like this? What happened? What did you tell my grandpa? Did you tell Yuka the truth? Did—"

And then, Miroku was right in front of her, watching her with such deep, hopeless despondency that Kagome immediately regretted ever opening her mouth.

"So, it does run in the family," said Miroku darkly. "Can't you people ask just one question at a time?"

Distracted by one persistent little lock of dark, wet hair, Kagome looked up. "Fine. One question," she mumbled, wondering if it was healthy for her heart to beat so fast.

"Mm. One question," he repeated, barely a hairbreadth away from her lips.

Kagome had to take a step back. This one question thing... not easy. But suddenly, she didn't really want to know the answers anyway. And as she was pondering several importunate questions, Souta's overly cheerful, overly excited voice reached them.

"Inuyasha! What are you doing here!" he'd screamed happily.

Both Miroku and Kagome froze, exchanging looks of horror. But then, to Kagome's shock, Miroku grinned so wickedly her very soul ached.

"I always thought Inuyasha was more of a window person," he said, smirking.

Frozen, Kagome mumbled. "He usually is." Those were... those were Souta's footsteps coming closer to her room. And _Inuyasha's_ footsteps. And—

Kagome pounced, trying to stuff Miroku into her closet.

Miroku chuckled, pried her fingers off his forearms, and cocked his head. "Kagome-san. Inuyasha's a hanyou. Dog. Half-demon. Nose. Futile."

Kagome blanched, then tried to inconspicuously step on Miroku's foot. "Well, you don't have to look so happy about it!"

Miroku shrugged, his face suddenly unreadable. "He'll have to find out eventually anyway."

Kagome felt the color drain from her face. She wasn't quite sure why the prospect of Inuyasha coming face to face with Miroku was so disconcerting. Miroku and Inuyasha were friends. They were pals, buddies, chums! And besides, it wasn't like Kagome had been doing anything... wrong.

Except, Miroku was in her room, in her time, wearing a very small towel, and she was—

Still holding onto him.

"Just get in there!" she whispered desperately, pushing against his chest and trying so very hard not to notice how smooth and firm his skin was. "Please."

His features softened. Kagome held her breath. Inuyasha and Souta's footsteps were so dangerously close.

"Fine, but you are hereby notified that I'm going to be looking through your collection of panties," said Miroku with an amused grin.

Thankful he was finally cooperating (and that she _didn't_ keep any of her underwear in there), Kagome quickly slid the closet door shut, then leaned against it with a relieved sigh.

Which quickly turned into a squeal of surprise as her bedroom door burst open and Inuyasha stalked into the room.

"Kagom_e_! Who told you that you could just—" began Inuyasha with a roar, then froze, sniffing the air. Kagome was certain he could _hear_ her heart about to explode. "What's that... smell?"

Kagome twisted her hands nervously. "Um, dinner?"

Inuyasha narrowed his eyes. "Smells like—"

"Bell peppers and beef!"

Inuyasha eyed her suspiciously. "—the monk," he finished.

Souta looked puzzled. "Hey, Nee-chan, wasn't there a—"

"Souta! I think I hear Mama calling you! Go! Go now!" said Kagome, ushering her little brother out of the room, and slamming the door behind him. Instantly, she plastered a big fake smile on her face, then spread her arms wide, as if the gesture alone would prove her innocence. "So, Inuyasha. What's... up?" she finished lamely.

Inuyasha was still sniffing around the room, dangerously close to the closet. Kagome could just picture it. Inuyasha thrusting his hand into the closet, pulling a naked Miroku out, Miroku raising a nonchalant eyebrow and saying, "Hello, Inuyasha! Has Kagome shown you her purple panties yet? Aren't they lovely with the little hearts and bows and all?"... and then the world going _boom_.

Wait. What?

"—see if you were sick again or something," Inuyasha was saying. Kagome tried to pay attention. So far, no explosions. No dead ex-monks. No enraged half demons.

"So, are you?" asked Inuyasha.

Kagome blinked. "Am I what?"

Inuyasha's nose twitched irritably. "Are you sick, idiot?"

Kagome considered the idea for a moment, then daintily walked over to her bed, hoping to distract Inuyasha. Quickly, she snatched Mr. Simian, and crushed the stuffed animal to her chest. "Oh, Inuyasha, I'm so sorry, but... I think my fever came back."

She was lying to Inuyasha. She was _lying_ to him.

"Always something," grumbled Inuyasha, heading for the window but pausing distrustfully beside the closet.

"W—what do you mean by that?" she asked hastily, standing up and nervously digging her fingers into Mr. Simian's plushy tummy.

"Howdy, par_d_ner!" screeched Mr. Simian helpfully. Inuyasha jumped.

"So, you want to learn how to count, do ya?" continued the gorilla blissfully. "Can you find... number _one_?"

A soft snicker came from somewhere deep to the rear of Kagome's winter clothes. Inuyasha's head snapped up menacingly.

GOD!

NO!

Flinging Mr. Simian at Inuyasha, Kagome quickly plastered herself against the closet door, spreading her arms protectively.

"What the hell is going on?" growled Inuyasha, baring his fangs. "What are you—"

"Hey, little buddy, are you still there?" interrupted Mr. Simian perkily. "C'mon! Play with me! Can you find... number _one_?"

Growling, Inuyasha extended his claws and ripped poor Mr. Simian to shreds. Kagome's eyes watered as her bottom lip trembled.

"Oh," was all she could say, completely forgetting about the situation, and kneeling to pick up Mr. Simian's severed head. "I got him when I was seven," she mumbled miserably.

Looking guilty, Inuyasha averted his eyes, but continued grumbling anyway. "Look, are you coming back or not? I don't have time for this."

Kagome sniffled. "No," she said.

"What?"

Mr. Simian's rusty batteries rolled across the floor.

"I'll go back when my fever goes down," said Kagome, trying to fill the toy gorilla's head with its spilled stuffing. "Tomorrow afternoon."

Inuyasha watched her for a long moment. Then, to Kagome's relief (_relief_?), the hanyou climbed out the window, leaping gracefully into the rainy sky and disappearing out of sight. Kagome kept picking away at Mr. Simian's parts for a while, neglectful of the rustling sounds behind her.

"So..." said Miroku, who'd clearly dressed while she was mourning her little toy, "...I'm guessing Inuyasha couldn't find number one?"

Kagome laughed through her sniffles. "Shut up."

He knelt down next to her, straightening out his shirt and running a hand through his wet hair. "Go help your mother," he said. "I'll take care of this little guy."

"Mr. Simian," she said, forcing herself to ignore the fact that Miroku now smelled like her favorite shampoo. "His name is Mr. Simian."

Miroku grinned. "Clever. Anyway. Go. I'll be there in a minute."

So, she did.

And upon entering the kitchen, Kagome was ambushed by a slightly hyper Souta who wanted to know if "Inu-no-oniichan was staying for dinner." And also, whether he'd killed "Nee-chan's new boyfriend." Kagome decided to ignore her brother for the rest of the week. Unfortunately, she couldn't ignore the eyebrow her mother insisted on lifting ever so subtly.

Still flustered, Kagome had managed to persuade her mother into bringing Miroku something to wear, and was now waiting for him with her arms crossed over her chest. She spent the better part of five minutes wondering why she wasn't... overjoyed that Inuyasha had come to see her, though her mind persistently kept slipping to poor Mr. Simian's horrified little button eyes and—

"Hey," said a soft, silky voice in her ear. "You still have that one question."

Kagome started.

In a dark blue yukata, Miroku looked like... like Miroku. The hair was shorter (Why was she missing that stupid ponytail all of a sudden?) and less untidy, but like this—he really did look the same. _How_?

"Did you tell Yuka we aren't dating?" she asked, surprising both herself and him. What the—? Why'd she waste her one question on something so... petty? Trivial? Shallow?

"No," was all he said as he walked past her to greet Grandpa.

Feeling oddly relieved, Kagome circled the rest of her family suspiciously, listening in on random conversations. One of them seemed to involve the recent confederation between Miroku and her grandfather whereby they were conspiring and inventing new, horrible diseases to inflict upon Kagome, and coming up with the best way to broach the news to poor, unsuspecting Hojou-kun.

Mrs. Higurashi, who hadn't been aware of the sheer extent of _madness_ her daughter was surrounded with, asked innocently, "Won't young Hojou realize there is no such thing as the Plague Pox?"

"Oh, no," said Miroku helpfully, flashing Kagome's mother a charming, sparkling smile. "_Small_ pox. We should be fine until he realizes we live in... well, _Japan_. Right, Higurashi-jii-chan?"

Mrs. Higurashi blinked wildly, then quickly zoomed in on a quickly-retreating Grandpa. Kagome scowled. She finally realized exactly how Miroku would die.

_Death by Kagome_.

Eventually, Kagome had been given a knife (unwise decision) and a bowl of bell peppers to play with while the rest of the family prepared for dinner. So, it was during one particularly fun dicing session ("Take that, Jaken!") that she'd finally spotted Miroku. He'd evidently dried his hair and was currently answering a multitude of Souta's questions ("What's your favorite band? Have you played this game? What about this one? Did you like this one? Isn't racing stupid? What kind of manga do you read? Is my sister failing Geometry?), which made Kagome grin despite her firm resolution to remain serious while that pervert was in her house.

She still couldn't believe Miroku had forced her to _lie_ to Inuyasha.

Okay, so, technically, he hadn't forced her—_he_ actually didn't mind if Inuyasha found out, but—

That—that was beside the point! Miroku was obviously evil. Very, very evil.

And coming towards her.

Kagome stiffened awkwardly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. She suspected he was coming over to apologize. And help her slice these stupid, boring peppers. And as he slowly kept advancing, Kagome decided to decline his help. Because she could. And because—because he'd stopped barely an inch away from her, and was staring at her quite oddly.

"_Kazuo_-kun," she gritted out sweetly. "Last time I checked, I wasn't paraplegic. I don't need your help."

Miroku grinned, just as sweetly, though his eyebrows were arching rather wickedly. "I wasn't offering to help you, Kagome-_kun_," he said with such innocence Kagome wanted to smite him with the nearest available skillet.

"I was merely trying to get past you to retrieve your grandfather's soup plates," he continued smoothly, voice laced with honey. "Unfortunately, you're blocking my way," he leaned in closer to whisper, clearly unnoticed by her useless family. "Have you gained weight?"

Fuming dangerously, Kagome tightened her grip on her big, sharp knife. "Of course," she said, saccharine-sweet. Cleverly, she ran the blade across a large bell pepper, and blinked up at Miroku with a pout. "I _am_ eating for two now, after all."

Miroku's eyes quickly widened, then narrowed with what Kagome could vaguely identify as... no. No, she couldn't quite identify it, after all.

Which was okay, because his right hand seemed to have reached out for her anyway, bypassing the counter and the cutting board, and zooming in on her fingers. Kagome felt a curiously uplifting tug near her heart, and glanced at their linked fingers.

"I—I was kidding," she said, mortified. "Taking a page out of your book and all that..."

Miroku smirked, and reached behind her with his left arm, stretching across to grab the saucers.

"You do know we slept together, right?" he whispered in a slow, luxurious drawl, then quickly let go of her hand and flounced off, shouting, "Here are the soup plates, Higurashi-jii-chan!"

Promptly, Kagome's fingers slipped down the blade. She stood there, watching the small cut fill with blood, and trembled with embarrassment, shock, and—and something incredibly, fabulously unfamiliar. With an appalled frown, Kagome straightened, finished chopping the peppers, then quickly washed out her cut, mentally reminding herself she—

_—_needed to ignore Miroku's comments.

Stupid, stupid, lying comments.

She was halfway to a successful revenge strategy (and two steps away from her usual seat at the table) when Mrs. Higurashi lightly patted Kagome's elbow, and said in a pert, delighted voice, "Won't you be a good hostess and sit there tonight?"

_There_ turned out to be—

Next to Miroku.

Huffing, Kagome sank down on the mat, noting—with rising panic—the very thick, very traditional, very _intimate_, quilt lining the low table. Oh, dear God, no. Not with Miroku around! Not when they were sitting so close to each other! Not when he could just slip his hand under the quilt at _any given moment_ during their innocent little dinner and _grope_ her in front of her fami—

"Ooh! Oden!" she shrieked happily, forgetting all about the boy next to her.

"What—?" began Miroku, blinking at her, but Souta shook his head.

"She won't hear you for another minute or so," he said, wrinkling his little nose.

Kagome's grandfather seized the opportunity almost immediately. "You know, the legend of this here kettle—"

By the time Kagome had finally decided to pay attention, Miroku and Grandpa were engaged in what sounded like a heated discussion over the relevance of water-sprites' mummified remains in blah, blah, something, blah, blah.

She was bored. And annoyed with her Grandfather. And her brother. What were they thinking, monopolizing Miroku's attention like that? Miroku was supposed to be paying attention to _her_, and—

Kagome choked violently. No. _I didn't just_...

"So," said Kagome's mother as Miroku patted Kagome's back to relieve her wild coughing. "Why haven't you told us you were getting a tutor?"

Kagome blinked. "What?"

Kagome's mother poked a soggy riceball. "Kazuo-kun here told us all about it. How he's helping you with certain subjects?"

"Did he now?" asked Kagome, glancing at Miroku with an ominous glare.

"Yes," said Miroku with a polite little nod her mother seemed to find adorable, "Kagome-san is very smart. She just needs to... get over her small pox, and she'll be back in the 96th percentile in no time."

Kagome's grandfather looked about, tapping his chin. "Small pox, yes, yes. We really ought to find a cure for that."

But Kagome wasn't paying attention. She'd fixed her eyes on Miroku's. "You—you really think so?"

Miroku's lips quirked upwards. "What?"

Kagome scooted closer. "You really think I could be in the 96th percentile like you and—"

"—actually, I'm in the 98th percentile—"

"—and maybe I could even—what?"

"Hm?" Miroku raised an amused eyebrow.

"You're in the 98th percentile?" asked Kagome, eyes sparkling.

Miroku popped a mushroom in his mouth. "Well, I _was_ top of the class, but somehow, I've been spending a lot of time worrying about y—" abruptly, he cut himself off.

Kagome felt inexplicably warm. "What?"

He shifted awkwardly and Kagome noticed, horrified, that her entire family was staring at them with interest.

"Nothing?" he said, scratching the back of his neck.

She stared at him with an earnest expression.

Miroku sighed deeply. "Well, it's just... I'm here now and you're not and—well, I remember. Feudal Japan isn't exactly Disneyworld, is it?"

Kagome couldn't help but smile brightly. It was strange, this foreign little affection spreading its talons through her.

Miroku narrowed his eyes at her. "Stop that," he said.

"Stop what?" she asked innocently, though her face had started to ache from all that grinning.

"Stop," gestured Miroku vaguely, "that."

"And if I don't?" she asked playfully.

He raised a defiant eyebrow, pausing thoughtfully, and Kagome knew, with undeniable certainty, that she. Was. In. So. Much. Freakin'. Trouble.

"Kagome," said Mrs. Higurashi, hiding a smile behind her hand, "please behave at the dinner table. You're making your guest uncomfortable. And your family, as well."

Kagome flushed.

Unfortunately, the reason for her sudden change in color had very little to do with her mother's words. Because—

Because Miroku's fingers were tracing light circles underneath the quilt. On her leg. Bare leg. Skirting the hem of her dress.

Swallowing, Kagome didn't know whether to say something, or reach down and pinch him (but what if she missed and touched something... um, inappropriate?), or—

"Hmm," said Kagome's grandfather suddenly. "Feudal Japan, eh?"

Both Miroku and Kagome froze.

Quickly, Miroku looked at her with a sheepish glance. Kagome winced. She'd forgotten. Her family—they didn't know. No one knew. She'd been keeping it a secret. She'd been keeping Miroku a secret. She'd—

—been keeping him to herself.

"So, she's _really_ told you everything? All about the—the...?" asked Kagome's grandfather. "I didn't think she'd ever tell anyone but us," he paused, frowning. "You must mean a lot to her."

Kagome sighed in relief, then immediately tensed. _Wait_! "Uhm, Jii-chan..."

But the old man kept on. "And it's very nice to see my only granddaughter has found herself a nice young man like you. Such impeccable manners..."

Miroku grinned, and Kagome gasped. His fingers—again—on her skin.

The rest of the dinner went by in a hectic blur. Kagome was trying to concentrate on her precious Oden, and _not_ on Miroku's hand (which she swore to sever once they were left alone), and soon, the table was cleared and the dishes were done and Miroku was kicking Souta's ass in some first person shooter game.

And before she knew it, it had already gotten very late. So late, in fact, that Souta was ordered to bed ("No, please! Just one more game! I'm sure I can win this time! He was cheating! I know he was!"), and Miroku was preparing to leave.

So, as they were standing outside, in the chilly night air, Kagome found herself squirming. She'd clearly forgotten to feel very vindictive as Miroku still had all his limbs. And those limbs... Hff. What was her problem? Miroku was now a part of modern Tokyo. And he was her friend. So, she _knew_ he was familiar with the whole 'I should hug you when I say goodbye' thing.

After all, she'd always hugged Yuka and Erri. And even the bookish Ayumi would often suffer from Kagome's overly enthusiastic affection. But somehow... she couldn't bring herself to—to _hug_ Miroku. At least not when she was thinking rationally. Which she was at the moment. So—

Miroku grinned, poking her shoulder. "You're not going to tell them the truth?"

Kagome didn't have to ask. "Everyone else already thinks we're together, so... no."

Miroku laughed, turning away from her. "That's not what I was asking," he said as they began descending the stone stairway.

Kagome frowned. "Then what—?"

Miroku stopped abruptly, and faced her from a step below. "You won't tell them who I am?"

Kagome flushed, but shook her head. "No."

He watched her for a moment, then asked softly, "Why?"

Kagome averted her eyes. It was odd, but... today, _now_—she was finally accepting him as one person. As the same person. Not as a reincarnation, not as a monk, not as Kazuo, not as Miroku. Not as anyone. Just—_him_. Why ruin her newfound tranquility with some long-winded explanation that ridiculed every science law in existence?

"Because it doesn't matter," she said honestly, hopping down the stairs ahead of him. "You're you."

.

.

.

.

.

The following morning, Kagome was sorely tempted to do what no student in his or her right mind would _ever_ think of.

She wanted to ditch Sengoku Jidai and go to school.

Uh huh.

Alas, as she'd promised Inuyasha she'd return, Kagome packed a few supplies—not many; not many at all, which would give her a relatively valid reason to go home sooner—said goodbye to her sleepy family, and slowly walked to the well.

She was so busy counting the steps between the shrine and Inuyasha's tree that she almost missed it.

On the well's hatch, sat a lone silhouette.

Heart pounding, Kagome came closer, reaching out a hand to snatch at the oddly-shaped shadow. And when her fingers slowly wrapped around it, she—

—giggled.

In her hands now rested a very happy-looking stuffed gorilla. Its plushy tummy was white and not black, like the late Mr. Simian's, but Kagome immediately fell in love with it. Only later, when she'd already made room in her backpack for the little toy, did she notice the small card that came with it.

.

_Play_ _with_ _me_.

_M_.

.

Still smiling brightly, Kagome tucked the note into one of the books she was taking with her, hoping fleetingly Inuyasha wouldn't come across it during one of his random 'Where's the RAMEN!' raids.

Oh.

_Inuyasha_.

The smile faded.

Inuyasha. Inuyasha. Kagome nodded to herself.

She would. She would stay with Inuyasha. Forever. Because Inuyasha needed her.

A gentle, chilly breeze whispered and fluttered and swept through her hair as she swung her legs over the well's brim.

_Inuyasha needs me_.

Hesitatingly, she slid off the cold stone surface, feeling as though she was diving off a very dangerous brink, one she knew she could never ascend again.

_But I_...

_I need_—

"Play with me," echoed a soft, warm voice.

_Yeah_.


	7. Brink

**Author's** **Notes**: I wish I were a boy. A polygamous boy. Then I could marry you all. Also, wah! Miroku's so horribly upset. I'd promised him Kagome-smut... but, _plot_.

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**Chapter Five: _On the Brink_**

_Come to the edge, He said_.

_They said, We are afraid_.

_Come to the edge, He said_.

_They came_.

_He pushed them_... _and they flew_.

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.

.

In his dream—

_The room is silent, _broken.

_The world outside his narrow little window is slowly dying_._ There could be a storm raging somewhere beyond—wild and natural and his—but it doesn't really matter_._ The ceiling above him is dark, hiding nothingness in its shadows, so he stares_.

_But he can't see, can't recognize anything, and his head is slowly beginning to ache_._ Little white spots are dancing somewhere above, pricking at his eyelids, begging him to blink—to just close his eyes and reach for that last obstacle to a deep slumber, and _crush_ it, squash it like the insignificant little wall that it is—_

_—to sleep while life slowly floats away_.

_"Why doesn't it matter?" she asks then_.

_His head turns sharply to look at her_._ When did _she_ come into his room? And why?_

_"Why doesn't it matter?" she repeats, and he shrugs, sliding his hands under his head, gaze back to the ceiling_.

_"I never said it didn't matter_._"_

_"That's worse than a lie,"_ _she_ _tells_ _him_. _"That's _denial._"_

_Delicately, she lowers herself to the mat, leaning on his knees_._ Her shoulders and back are gracefully arched, her jaw lowered in repose as she watches him with those big blue eyes_.

_"It's only denial if I see it as denial_._ I don't__," he says with a slight smirk_.

_"What _do_ you see it as?" she asks then, and suddenly, her fingers are searching for something_._ His hands_._ He decides to make it easy for her and sits up, stretching his back against the wall, hands coming to rest on the bedspread_.

_"You don't see well in the dark, do you?" he mumbles, reaching with his right arm_._ Soon, her fingers are lying on his palm, and absentmindedly, he rests his chin on her little hand_.

_"Are you trying to change the subject, or is this a really clever way to draw some dark parallel and impress me?" she smiles and shifts, bringing her knees onto the mat, nudging the bedspread so she can slip underneath if he'll let her_.

_"_Do_ I impress you?" he lifts his gaze, nuzzling his cheek against the back of her hand_._ She keeps her eyes on his face, full of genuine surprise and wonderment and something so foreign to his senses that he has to let go_.

_But she grabs his wrist and slips her little hands in his_._ "Yes_._ Yeah, you do_._"_

_Their fingers are entwined now, and he leans back and slides lower, his back pressing against the thin mat beneath him_._ It's not an entirely comfortable position, so he fidgets until something clicks, falls right into place, completes that restless jigsaw puzzle_.

_"It won't hurt, you know," she whispers innocently, fingers still curled around his_.

_"Now who's in denial?" he cocks an eyebrow, but brushes his lips over hers_.

_Death doesn't hurt_.

_"But _my_ denial is optimistic," she sighs and slips off him_._ Before she can leave and disappear like the fragile little light that she is, he catches her and brings her back_._ She falls into the crook of his shoulder like she belongs there, so he kisses her forehead and smooths away a lock of dark hair_.

_It feels like silk on his damp fingertips, so he adds, "Why _can't_ you see well in the dark?"_

_She thinks for a moment, sharp nails tracing lazy circles on his chest, "Because I don't have to_._"_

_He nods, tightening his grip on her_._ "But what if you had to?"_

_Her fingers come to an abrupt stop_._ "Why would I have to?" She's looking up at him, her ankles rubbing against his_.

_"Because_._ Maybe there's someone else there that you need to see_._ Someone else you need, _period._" One hand goes back to her hair, playing and tugging and teasing until she mumbles against his chest, sleepily, childishly_.

_"That can't be the only reason, can it?"_

_He can't help smiling, a fine upturning of cold lips_._ He could get used to this_._ He _is_ used to it_._ "No_._"_

_"Well? I'm listening_._"_

_"No_._ You're sleeping_._"_

_"And _you're_ avoiding_._"_

_Here he grins, and draws her closer to him_._ "If you can see in the dark, if someone, by chance, comes along and turns on a light, then_..._"_

_"Then?"_

_"Then you know where you're going_._ What you're fighting for_._"_

_Her little nose is warm, barely a millimeter away from his_._ She hovers over him for a moment_._ "What _are_ you fighting for?"_

_He kisses her, waiting for that pull, that detachment from reality, to start tugging at his conscience, but it doesn't come_._ It _should._ Doesn't he deserve it? Because—this isn't right_.

_But it's still happening_._ It's still real_.

_"So?" she breaks away, breathing unsteadily_.

_"I don't know," he nips at her jaw, eyes closed and—_

_He blinks and stares. Her face is there, right above his_._ "Peace_._ I think," he whispers absently, watching his hand_._ Five fingers_._ Lines and details telling him how long he'll live_._ Shiny, perfectly trimmed nails and dry knuckles_. _No kazaana_.

_She's smiling; specks of gold around her irises, tiny crease between her eyebrows, small, marring scar on that white flesh, and a beauty mark near her lips_.Real.

_"You can't fight for peace," she whispers into his mouth, peppering his lips with tiny, butterfly kisses_._ And a mumbled, "It's an oxymoron_._"_

_Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the window_._ It's closed, but there's a light peering into the room_._ Bright and spectacular and alive_._ Can it be morning yet? Did tomorrow come already? Didn't the world die when he wasn't paying attention?_

_She's standing somewhere now, distant and unreal, so he shakes his head_._ "Moot point_._ Can't see in the dark anyway_._" And just like that, a heavy burden presses against him_._ Glove, beads, kazaana_.

_"But what if you could see and there was no one there?" she asks quietly._

_He frowns, and shrugs_._ It's still dark outside_. _Maybe tomorrow didn't come after all_. _Maybe the world died, and he just can't tell the difference_.

_"That, Kagome, is why it doesn't matter_._"_

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.

There was a crack in the theory.

That old, untested hypothesis that had kept him relatively comfortable, allowing him to believe in that childish myth. _A golden middle_. Somewhere between _end_ _of_ _the_ _line_ and _middle_ _of_ _nowhere_ that was supposedly better than an actual spot on the map.

Miroku, the furyou houshi, hadn't been sleeping well. He'd attributed it to several varying factors, foremost of which were his accommodations. There was something inherently improper about staying at Takeda's castle. The place was haunted—literally and figuratively—with disturbing spirits; phantoms and apparitions that chilled him to the bone.

And while Sango seemed intent on disposing of them by herself, Miroku chose to immerse himself in the archives instead, trying to help out as much as she would let him. Inuyasha, on the other hand, had been eating a great deal (abusing Takeda's generosity to the utmost), and was complaining entirely too much about Kagome's unwillingness to return.

Miroku was quite _displeased_ with Kagome's behavior himself.

She—she'd acted very irresponsible. And childish. And—and—

"Miroku-sama!" was all he could discern before he was blindsided by a very enthusiastic blur of energy.

"Ah. I see you've finally found your way back, Kagome-sama," he mumbled, his voice muffled by her hair. Did she just—

Hug his arm?

"Mh hmm," she said, practically crushing her fingers into his flesh. "Kirara was waiting for me! And—and _thank_ _you_!" she squealed and disappeared, presumably in search of Shippou.

Miroku blinked, then reminded himself the girl was... occasionally demented.

Oddly enough, he immediately found himself feeling decidedly _better_, not quite knowing what had prompted his impromptu change of heart. He quickly finished flipping through a few archaic tombs—strangely bored with them all of a sudden—and retreated to the residential complex in search of his group. On his way there, he managed to pick up a rather aggravated kitsune—who'd been choking on a very salty catfish—and informed the child of Kagome's return.

Consequently, Miroku had to actually _run_ after Shippou, as the little kitsune sped across the compound, screaming for Kagome, _Kagomeeee_! Unfortunately, Miroku couldn't quite begrudge the child, considering his own, rather unconventional, enthusiasm.

"Is Kagome-chan back?" asked Sango, poking her head out of her room, where she'd been trying to avoid Kuranosuke-sama's dotting entourage. "Never mind. Shippou-chan just exploded, so I'll take that as a yes."

Shyly, she rose and slid the thin divider closed behind her. Miroku had the oddest feeling Sango was expecting him to say something to her regarding the situation, but he just couldn't quite find the right words. So, instead, he reverted back to his patented, charming self. Luckily, he hadn't gotten very far before Takeda popped up, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Ah! Sango-chan!" said Kuranosuke boisterously. "I fear our time together is growing short. Would you mind gracing me with your presence on this lovely afternoon?"

Sango blushed uncomfortably as another screen slid open, revealing an eavesdropping Shippou, a flustered Inuyasha, and a coughing Kagome. Miroku grinned, half expecting her to jump up and thwap Takeda with her backpack, but one glance at her sheepish features stopped him cold.

_Huh_. What had changed?

"Yes," mumbled Sango, and quietly joined Kuranosuke for a stroll. Miroku waited before they were out of earshot to look at Kagome quizzically, but she immediately looked away with a guilt-ridden frown. Inuyasha nodded at Miroku in greeting, then went back to his feast of charred fish and spongy rice. Shortly thereafter, a war between the United Nations of Shippou and the Federation of Inuyasha broke out.

"Have they been like this since I left?" mumbled Kagome.

Miroku entered the room, looking at the stack of dirty dishes. "Worse."

Kagome shook her head, amused. "Inuyasha—"

"Can't talk," said Inuyasha, "busy eating."

Kagome giggled. Miroku felt a pang of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy.

"Ok_a_y then!" said Kagome happily. "While you two continue to cultivate several cardiovascular diseases, _I'm_ going to have a look around."

"Mh hmmrrm," said Inuyasha and Shippou simultaneously.

Kagome paused, exchanging a glance with Miroku. "And—I'm going to wander off into the forest."

"Mh hmmrrm."

A small smile played about her lips—one Miroku wasn't quite used to seeing. "And then I'll stumble upon Sesshoumaru-sama."

"Mh hmmrrm."

Kagome raised both eyebrows. "And then I'll _marry_ him."

"Mh hmmrrm."

Kagome huffed. "And then I'll have triplets with Miroku!"

"Mh hmmrrm," was the reply.

Miroku grinned wickedly. "Kagome-sama, I don't think they'd notice even if we were to, say, copulate right in front of them."

Kagome choked violently, which only encouraged Miroku further, an enticing itch tickling his abdomen.

"_So_. Shall we test that theory?" he whispered in her ear.

Kagome flushed, her cheeks deliciously pink, then—

—stormed out, grumbling.

Amused and oddly satisfied, Miroku grinned to himself, then left to join her outside. And—she was apparently waiting for him, leaning against one of the trees and running her fingers through her hair, trying to get rid of the drifting petals that had clearly ganged up on her.

"Need help?" he asked innocently, plucking one of the petals out of her hair.

She shot him a glare. "No. _You_ do. Professional help. A lot of it."

Miroku patted her head. "Your mood swings entertain and amuse me, Kagome-sama."

Kagome laughed, pushing him away. "How long do we have to stay here?"

Miroku pointed his staff toward the main house. "We've done what Kuranosuke-sama paid for while you were gone, therefore..."

Kagome hummed. "Good," she said, then spun around, grabbed his hand, and dragged him toward the lake. Eventually, she let go, and simply admired the scenery—the lush gardens, the boundless meadows, the low rooftops, the sparkling lake and its wild collection of koi—

"Mhmm," said Kagome softly, scrunching up her nose and balling up her little fists as though she'd finally reached a very important decision. "Sango-chan could be happy here."

Miroku tried not to gape stupidly.

What—what had happened? What had prompted such a drastic change in her? How could she preach to him about Sango's undying love and commitment one day, then come back and—

"Miroku-sama," she was staring at him sheepishly. "May I ask a question?"

Miroku resisted twitching. "Ah, Kagome-sama. I apologize profusely, but could you please repeat that?"

Anxiously, Kagome scooted closer to him, a few locks of her dark hair grazing his cheek. "What?"

"It's just that—" he began, feigning hurt, "I thought I'd heard you ask for _permission_."

Kagome looked torn between exasperation and glee. "Just _answer_ me, Miroku-sama," she threatened, though her intimidation powers equaled those of a kitten.

Miroku grinned, beginning his slow trek across the pebbled shore, waiting for Kagome to catch up. Finally, she tagged him successfully, somewhere near the elaborate little bridge Takeda's ancestors had obviously built for celebratory occasions.

"You really _don't_ mind this, do you?" she asked, watching his face for any sign of dishonesty. "Kuranosuke-sama and Sango-chan, I mean."

And though Kagome's question resembled a statement, he answered her anyway. "No. I'm happy if she's happy," he said with sincerity, then smirked mischievously. "Though, I fear Kuranosuke-sama is not nearly as handsome—or _charming_—as I am."

Kagome gave him a strange look, turning to leave.

"May I ask _you_ a question now?" inquired Miroku quickly, before she had a chance to run away again.

With a wary grimace, Kagome wrinkled her nose. "Uhm. I suppose. But I _will_ hit you."

He hid a grin. "Duly noted," he said, then made a show of appearing hesitant. "That eight second rule. What the hell does it mean?"

She blinked incredulously, and Miroku could've sworn she'd seemed slightly... disappointed. "_What_?"

"It's been bothering me for weeks," he explained casually, enjoying her lost expression a little too much. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

Kagome tilted her head. "You must've been really bored without me, huh?" she grinned adorably, crossing her arms.

Miroku started. "Wh—no. Uh. _No_. That is to say—"

His sudden discomfort (damn it, was she _right_?) seemed to amuse Kagome greatly. She was beaming brilliantly, watching him with a giddy grin.

"Hee!" she giggled happily. "Non-verbal Miroku! Never thought I'd live to see the day."

Miroku glanced to the side. No. He couldn't possibly. _No_. It would be wrong. And Kagome would be upset. And—

Casually, Miroku nudged her, watching with satisfaction as she toppled over into the lake with a surprised, flustered shriek.

_Oi_. What was he, _five_ years old?

Grinning wickedly, he waited for her to surface. And surface she did—incredibly wet and dangerous.

"I'm _so_ reporting you to Buddha!" she bristled.

Miroku was laughing wildly before he could be persuaded otherwise. By the time he'd forced himself to calm down, Kagome was already sniffling fretfully.

"Help me out, Miroku-sama," she pleaded innocently, reaching out for him like a child. Miroku narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

"You realize, of course, I'm not about to fall for—" Here, Kagome whimpered miserably, and something deep inside Miroku's chest brutally protested his uncouth, abject behavior.

"Fine," he huffed, resting his staff against a tree and kneeling on the gravelly ledge. "Grab a hold of my ha—"

_Splash_!

Kagome let out a tiny yelp of pure, absolute glee, sticking her hand in the air as if to claim victory. She gave a proud huff of triumph, bouncing where she stood, soaked and happy and contagious. "And that, my humble audience, is why you shouldn't challenge the master!"

Miroku tried very hard to glare at her, but was failing miserably. "My robes take longer to dry, you know."

"And mine are 50% silk. Pond water ruins the texture," she said, bursting with energy.

Grinning, Miroku poked her. "You're very shallow today, Kagome-sama," he said in much the same manner. What was she _doing_ to him?

Instead of taking offense, Kagome giggled. "So—why'd you push me in?"

"Did I? Your, er... body must have slipped."

"I see," she said.

"No, you don't," he smirked.

"No, I don't," she agreed cheerfully, trying to climb out. Miroku watched her squirm and claw at the water. Inuyasha—if he'd been less attentive during meals—would have killed Miroku for even _thinking_ about it, but—

"Let me help you, Kagome-sama," he mumbled, dipping into the water. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up, though he'd sort of... forgotten to... let go.

"Climb up," he coughed, loosening his grip. Kagome nodded, and very, very quietly slid to his back, in what was traditionally a stance associated with the hanyou. _Piggyback_, she'd called it once. Miroku could feel her heartbeat through his drenched robes—which were now peculiarly _tight—_so he wrapped his arms around her knees as her arms slipped around his neck.

Everything was so incredibly slippery and wet and warm that Miroku began questioning his—currently stalwart—virtue. Then, as her fingers accidentally brushed across his chest, Miroku—who'd never been able to resist such temptation—took a deliberate step forward, which prompted Kagome to bounce against him, and press her dainty—

"What are you guys doing?"

Miroku looked up wildly, trying to focus. "Shippou?" he asked incoherently.

Shippou observed them for a moment, his little head tilted, then—

"I want to play, too!" he shrieked jauntily, and launched himself at them with a piercing scream.

It took Miroku several attempts to dislodge the kitsune from his head—and several more to get everyone out of the lake safely (though he'd briefly contemplated holding Shippou's head under the water for... an eternity). Finally, once Shippou had shaken off excess water—splashing everything within a mile radius in the process—the child explained that the group was ready to depart from Takeda's castle.

Promptly, Kagome scampered off to thank Kuranosuke-sama for his hospitality (though she hadn't exactly had a chance to enjoy it), while Miroku busied himself with a recurrent conversation Inuyasha insisted on having: the potential location of the next shard. By the time Miroku had time do to _any_ definite thinking, it was already sundown, and the group had settled for the night.

It was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, so Miroku postponed his meditation in favor of sleep. Except, sleep refused to come. Probably because Kagome and Shippou were babbling and giggling and Miroku was kind of hungry. Thus, he kindly decided to help Shippou rummage through Kagome's backpack.

"Hey," chirped Shippou excitedly. "What's this? Kagome? Hmm? Kagom_e_?"

"Aiee!" was all Miroku could comprehend as Kagome dove for an absurd-looking... _doll_?

The fuzzy white toy sprang up, then smacked into a tree bark. Kagome rushed to pick it up, cradling the thing protectively.

"Sorry, Mr. Simian Jr.!" she told the doll, then looked up, oblivious. "What?"

"Oh... nothing," grinned Miroku, watching her. "I'm just trying to understand why you apologize to inanimate objects."

She blushed prettily. "Hff. You obviously weren't here when we fought Yura of the Hair," she pouted.

Shippou's head snapped up. "Yura of the Hair?"

And as Kagome launched into a lengthy tale—one that seemed to involve skulls and demons and, oddly enough, a _comb_—Miroku nibbled on a pocky (pocky!), and couldn't help but wonder if _his_ children would be as exhausting.

_Children_.

With a covert glance around the camp, Miroku frowned thoughtfully.

Sango—Sango seemed generally... disinterested with the notion. She was often reserved—admittedly, one couldn't quite blame her—and only showed real affection toward Kirara. Actually, now that he thought about it, Miroku came to a startling conclusion.

Sango was very similar to _Inuyasha_.

Neither had any qualms about endangering their own lives to save someone in need (though Inuyasha made sure to appear grouchy and annoyed for fear of ruining his reputation), but... on closer inspection, both Sango and Inuyasha were somehow... withdrawn.

Perhaps they weren't even aware of it. Perhaps they thought they _were_ close to others. Perhaps it wasn't in their character to be—to be...

After all, they were warriors first, and everything else second. It was quite feasible that they would change with age—Inuyasha, if he ever accepted Kagome as _Kagome_; and Sango, if she lived long enough to have children.

But. Miroku... did he _want_ to wait? Could he? Sango was in love with him, yes, and Miroku _had_ to produce an heir within a year. So... he was behaving impracticably. What difference did it make? A child was a child, regardless of its mother's affections, or lack thereof.

_Yet_...

"—and so, a long, long time ago, the emperor of heaven decided to invite all the animals to a banquet," Kagome was telling a very sleepy Shippou, clearly finished with her first story.

Shippou sniffled tiredly, snuggling deeper into Kagome's lap. "Even the fox?"

With a soft snort, Kagome nodded absentmindedly, watching the flames lick at the night sky. "Of course."

"And the dog?" murmured Shippou as Kagome brushed the bangs away from his little forehead.

"Yes, even the dog," said Kagome with a tiny yawn. "He actually finished the race, and became the eleventh animal."

Shippou shifted, clearly on the brink of slumber. "And the fox?"

Kagome's eyes widened helplessly. "Uhm, oh. The—the fox... er. Well, you see... the fox—"

Miroku grinned. "—Wasn't the fox third?"

"Third...?" said Shippou joyfully, smacking his lips and curling up with a deep, content sigh, surrendering to sleep.

"I thought the _tiger_ was third," frowned Sango, fluffing one of Kirara's tails. "There's no fox in the—oh." She glanced between Kagome and Miroku, tilting her head. "You shouldn't lie to a child."

Inuyasha grunted affirmatively. "You shouldn't coddle him so much, either."

Slightly chagrined, Kagome tucked the little kitsune in, grumbling to herself. "I'm not _coddling_ him. He's still practically a baby—"

"He's a demon!" snapped Inuyasha, poking the fire violently. "And he's not a baby. He can take care of himself."

Miroku stretched, rubbing his eyebrow. "I believe you're missing the point, Inuyasha," he yawned. "Just because he _can_ doesn't mean he _wants_ to. Or, that he should have to."

Inuyasha scoffed, Sango was looking undecided, and Kagome—

Kagome seemed eager to pounce. "Exactly!" she clapped her hands, turning to Sango. "Wouldn't you agree, Sango-chan?"

Sango looked as though she'd rather not answer for fear of siding with Inuyasha. "I don't know," she said instead, "but I do know we'll wake him up if we keep shouting like this."

And so, looking as though they'd been admonished by a disappointed parent, both Miroku and Kagome settled back, curling on their sides and accidentally catching each other's eye through the ebbing hearth dividing them. Smiling quietly, Kagome stuck out her tongue at him.

Miroku grinned, forcing himself to ignore the reaction his body was having to that little pink tongue. "You haven't finished the story, Kagome-sama," he said as quietly as he could.

"No, but Shippou's asleep, so it's kinda pointless," Kagome whispered back.

Miroku pouted. "One is never too old for a good story," he pointed out.

Kagome raised both eyebrows. "_You_ certainly are," she taunted pleasantly. "Although, I suppose there's always the story of Little Red Riding Hood," she laughed quietly, then tried to compose herself. "You'd—you'd certainly like the subtext."

Intrigued, Miroku leaned forward, warming his hands on the fire. "Mhmm?"

Kagome flushed and curled up around Shippou, glancing away. "Never mind."

"Tell me," he said.

"No," she said.

"Kagome-sama—"

"Miroku-sama—"

"Tell me!"

"I don't want to anymore!"

"Why not?"

"Why do I need a reason?"

Miroku grinned, feeling oddly invigorated and untroubled and mischievous. "You can't possibly expect me to fall asleep without gaining this seemingly unattainable knowledge, Kagome-sama."

Kagome pouted. "Well, I _do_."

"That's not very polite."

"Yes, well—neither is tossing unsuspecting people into some stupid river!"

"Technically, it was a lake—"

"Ooh—_you_—why can't you just—"

"—GO TO SLEEP ALREADY!" snarled Inuyasha from his perch on the tree, ears twitching irritably. Several plants around him immediately lost their leaves; birds of every shape and size fled with a cacophony of squawks and shrieks; and Shippou jumped up dazedly, aiming his little fists at an invisible enemy.

"Well," sighed Sango tiredly, "at least we've spared Naraku the trouble of searching for us. Unless he's become deaf—"

"And _dead_," added Kagome petulantly.

"—he's probably on his way here as we speak," finished Sango accusingly.

For a moment, Miroku found himself wishing Kagome would say that little three-letter word, but to Miroku's disappointment, Inuyasha remained punishment-free. The hanyou grumbled an obviously strained apology, then sprawled grumpily across a thick branch, successfully ignoring the world around him.

Miroku dared a glance at Kagome. Her shoulders were shaking with repressed giggles. Miroku chuckled to himself softly, deciding he wouldn't be the one to break first. He wouldn't realize it until much later, but this little exercise in control would become almost a nightly ritual.

.

.

.

.

.

The next several days sped by happily.

The group—seemingly refreshed and less tense now that Kagome was back (and fighting with Inuyasha)—had found a small, pleasant village. Most of its inhabitants were grateful to Inuyasha for exterminating a local pack of demons (though, he'd done it quite by accident), and so, encouraged and relaxed by the addition of another shard, the group spent five enjoyable days doing absolutely _nothing_.

Actually, the little village was so likable, and its people so kind, that Miroku fleetingly entertained the thought of retiring here once the jewel was completed.

On the sixth day—when the wet weather was reaching its peak—Inuyasha politely demanded ("MOVE IT!") they accompany him to old Toutousai's latest hideout. Once the Tetsusaiga was thoroughly inspected (and Inuyasha thoroughly insulted), the group journeyed back to the village at a leisurely pace. The scene was almost idyllic; a strange sort of internal peace seemed to drift around them, and—

"Would you _stop_ with the flowers already, runt?" grumbled Inuyasha.

Shippou plucked another wet dandelion, scurried up Inuyasha's arm, then blew hard. Inuyasha attempted to drop-kick him into the Northern Lands. Shippou quickly retreated to the relative safety of Kagome's arms.

"Inuyasha is _so_ mean!" he whined. "I'm going to—I'm going to—"

"Finish a sentence?" smirked Inuyasha, then froze, sniffing the air and exchanging glances with a now-panicking Shippou. Kirara growled.

"What's wrong? Inuyasha...?" asked Sango, frowning.

But Inuyasha ignored her. He scowled, then rushed toward the village. And when the remainder of the group caught up with him, Miroku—

—felt his heart sink.

The sky had never looked quite like that before.

It was breaking right before Miroku's eyes. Long lines of fast-moving, grotesque demons and spirits appeared to be baptizing the daylight, plunging into the ground, the sharp, slashing sounds of their massacre softened by the pouring rain. The dirt under his feet seemed to sizzle, and all Miroku could see were villagers, strewn about like broken toys.

"You need to leave!" he shouted at them frantically. "Now!"

"Houshi-sama," said a somber voice. "They're dead."

Miroku flinched, gripping his staff. "There might be survivors. There are always survivors."

Sango turned away, apparently intent on ignoring him. "Inuyasha," she said professionally, "Kirara and I will take the north side—you and Houshi-sama—"

"Stop telling me what to do," groused Inuyasha, though he was obviously predisposed to comply. Promptly, he selected the largest demon in the vicinity, and lunged. Miroku, on the other hand, dealt with the remainder, trying very hard not to notice everything _else_ that was getting pulled into the kazaana.

_Broken doll's head_. _Kettle_. _Bloody rag that looked remarkably like a child's_—

"We really should stop staying in villages," said Inuyasha much later, when the sun was kissing the horizon and the sky was blissfully barren.

"Uhn," agreed Sango, leaning against Kirara and inspecting the wreckage that had been their haven just this morning. "Well. Time to dig out the graves again."

"Uhn," grunted Inuyasha irritably, "it's all we ever do."

And so they did, working in silence and trying to refrain from any abstract reflection. It was much later, when the last little grave had been covered, that Miroku noticed the inauspicious absence of a certain—

"Where's Kagome?" asked Inuyasha, wiping his forehead and sniffing the air, his eyes darting around anxiously.

"The inn," was all Shippou would say as he nestled against Kirara.

"I'll get her," offered Miroku, trying to quash the uneasy feeling building within him.

He searched for her quietly, approaching the [surprisingly intact] inn with quick, angry strides. _Can't_. _Can't think about that now_.

"Kagome-sama?" he grumbled as he poked his head inside. The place smelled of dampness and carnage and—

Kagome was standing near one of the wooden benches, frozen and horrified. He heard her call his name and his breathing quickened, fueled by fear. What the hell was she looking at?

"Miroku-sama," she trembled, and he followed her line of vision.

The corner. A family. Huddled together. Dead. Small, hissing demon. Feeding. Slurping. Blood.

"Kagome, don't look!"

He disposed of the demon quickly, slicing at it violently and shuddering with disgust.

The blood—the blood seemed thicker than Miroku remembered, dulled by the lifeless light, and he didn't want to see any more.

Swiftly, he covered Kagome's eyes, and pulled her away angrily. "I _told_ you not to look!"

He'd opened his mouth to scold her as though she was a child, and then—

And then he realized he was acting irrationally.

He hadn't wanted her to see, _fine_. But, why?

She didn't _have_ to see it, because—because she didn't belong here. She was too soft. Too innocent.

An insistent little voice inside leapt forward to remind him Kagome _had_ seen such scenes before. So... why was he so worried about her reaction?

_I don't want her to change_.

"I'm sorry," she was saying, trying to remove his hand. "I'm sorry," she repeated, and somehow—peculiarly, surprisingly—found herself in his arms.

And as her head tucked itself under his chin, Miroku wondered exactly _why_ he didn't want her to change. Finally, when her fingers had started digging into his flesh a little too ardently, he decided to drag her outside and—

"I don't want you to die," she whispered, and for a moment, Miroku couldn't feel anything but the parts she'd been touching. "I don't want anyone to die anymore. And—and—don't say it."

Miroku tilted his head, gently pushing her away so he could see her face. "Don't say what?"

Kagome untangled herself from him, staring at the ground. " 'Join the club'? Because you—because you always say something like that when I say something... stupid."

Horrified at the nearly indecent relief sweeping through him, Miroku stood there, staring at her.

_She's never going to change_.

"Kagome-sama," he said gratefully, "one cannot live without dying. We have to accept death as part of—"

"Promise me you won't."

Miroku blinked, startled. "I'm sorry?"

Kagome looked up at him. "Promise me you won't die."

For a very long moment, Miroku's throat refused to work. Finally, after his heartbeat had decided to return to its regular rhythm, he pasted a grin and said, in a deep—hopefully confident—voice, "I promise."

.

.

.

.

.

It had been a message.

Naraku's version of a postcard.

A demon—starved, ugly, prostrate—gave them their instructions, then crumbled to dust. And so now, they had it.

They had the location of Naraku's new fortress.

Within a week, they'd reached the foggy valley just beyond the Northern Lands. Both Inuyasha and Miroku insisted Kagome stay with Kaede, but she'd refused. Miroku noted, with some small, morbid sort of satisfaction, that she'd been very attentive to him. But then again, she'd clung to Inuyasha for days, as well, asking the hanyou to promise her he wouldn't get himself hurt.

Miroku frowned.

_Not the time for this_.

The woods thinned, and Miroku wondered whether they would find this fortress burnt to the ground, as well.

But the narrow path widened and there it was, big and foreboding and imposing, with a misty barricade that spanned so widely, it practically hid the fortress from view. And somewhere amidst that cold, blue brilliance, his eyes landed on a silhouette, familiarly dressed and staring indifferently into the silent night.

_Kikyou_.

A soft gasp to his left. _Kagome_—

And when the priestess stepped away, they could see. Another figure stood there, cloaked in the shadows. Its white fur shone bright and sharp under the moonlight, and Inuyasha stared, bewildered, before he spoke, in a voice Miroku had never heard the hanyou use.

"Kikyou," he growled to himself uncertainly. "Get away from him."

"What is she doing with _Naraku_?" asked Sango, gritting her teeth, and tightening her grip on her weapon. "Inuyasha—"

"Don't—don't hurt her," said a trembling voice. "Please, Sango-chan. _Miroku_-_sama_."

Miroku spun around.

"She's—she's not a bad person," continued Kagome desperately as though it took an incredible amount of control and discipline. "We have to _help_ her."

Inuyasha stared at Kagome, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. Sango looked displeased, while Shippou bit his lip, looking torn.

Personally, Miroku wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the situation. He could barely suppress the instinctive rage and anxiety he invariably felt around that damn spider. The added complexity of trying to make both Inuyasha and Kagome see the dead priestess for what she really was—a vessel of hate and vengeance—was definitely inconvenient.

"Let's just take care of Naraku," he said firmly. "We'll deal with... other matters _later_."

Inuyasha snapped out of his stupor. "Yeah."

And just like that, the hanyou sped off, leaving the rest to shout warnings after him.

"Inuyasha!" yelled Sango as Kirara transformed, her fluffy paws surrounded by flickering flames. "You can't take him on alone—and—ooh, that _idiot_!"

Miroku privately agreed. Experience and common sense were both screaming, 'Trap!' inside him—after all, it had been entirely too easy to find Naraku's new fortress. Moreover, Naraku very rarely—if ever—appeared without his devout minions. Something was horribly off about this whole thing.

"Kagome-chan, stay here," said Sango stiffly, mounting Kirara and setting off after Inuyasha.

Miroku's blood boiled. He could never think straight around Naraku. Today was no exception. With a quick glance at Kagome (bow, check—arrows, check), he quickly reached the barrier, picturing all the ways Naraku's head could be spliced open.

"Ah," said a deep, bored voice from beyond the baboon pelt. "They've come to play."

The hair on the back of Miroku's neck prickled.

"Playtime's over," hissed Inuyasha, gripping his Tetsusaiga. "Kikyou, what the fuck are you doing?"

Kikyou watched the scene calmly. "Supervising," she said. "Naraku tends to forget."

"Forget what?" asked Inuyasha desperately, his ears twitching.

"That only I am allowed to kill you, Inuyasha," she said softly.

Stealthily, Miroku nodded at Sango and Kirara, who were slowly rounding the barrier, trying not to think of how utterly _imbecilic_ Inuyasha was.

Kikyou wanted him _dead_. Did the hanyou think that was _romantic_ or something? There was absolutely nothing romantic about death.

Miroku unwrapped his protective beads, and then—

—all hell broke loose.

Kagura, from somewhere beyond the barrier. Puppets. Hundreds of mindless minions. Kikyou, unemotional, watching from the sidelines. _Hiraikotsu _and _Kaze no Kizu_ and—

—those damn poisonous insects.

With a grunt of frustration, Miroku closed his fist. Fine! He'd just take care of these bastards manually.

"Houshi-sama!"

Miroku froze.

"_Houshi_-sama!" shouted Sango again as Kirara roared and charged toward one of the larger, serpent-like demons. "Kagome-chan—!"

That was all it took.

Miroku swung his staff, slicing through a demon that was blocking his view, his eyes searching for Kagome. They'd _told_ her to stay put, so why the hell—

Son of a—

She was making him so angry, this girl.

Why? Why would she leave the relative safety of the woods? Why would she tangle herself in this mess? _Why_ would she be approaching _Kikyou_?

Pulse racing wildly, Miroku tried very hard not to count the numerous flocks of demons swarming around the priestess—soul snatchers not excluded—and scrambling up the small hill that divided the area, he tugged at his protective beads.

_Inuyasha's too far away_._ He'll never make it in time_.

Neither would Miroku.

A persistent insect was buzzing around his head, as if its only assignment was to taunt Miroku. But its mocking was pointless. Miroku knew. He knew he couldn't use his kazaana. Not now. Too many demons. And the poison. And—

—Kagome was speaking to Kikyou—

—a mass of tangled, misshapen demons was soaring through the air, headed for Kagome's back—

—Kikyou wouldn't move a finger to help Kagome, he knew. He knew—

"_Kazaana_!"

In a whirlwind of confusion, Kagome and Kikyou had turned to look at him; Kikyou with indifference; Kagome with guilt and worry and horror. Frowning deeply, Miroku tried to steady his hand—his aim seemed to be off, his proficiency decreasing with every poisonous insect the kazaana pulled in—hoping Kagome would realize she. Needed. To. Get. Out. Of. The. Way.

_Now_.

By some small miracle, she seemed to understand. Then, to his dismay, she grabbed Kikyou's hand and tugged her away into a hollowed trench, where they would most likely be protected from the winds.

Now that Kagome was safe—though obviously _insane_—Miroku flinched, wrapping his fingers around the protective beads, ready to close his palm. He could feel the uncomfortable warmth he now associated with Naraku's miasma spread through his arm, then his shoulders, his neck, his face—

_Keep going_.

He'd lost count of the demons, figuring it was best to take out as many as he humanly could. Inuyasha and Sango could take care of the rest. It was okay. It was. He'd survived these stupid bugs before. Twice, was it? Hell, he was probably building up a tolerance to them, an immunity, and—

_Fuck_.

Miroku knew the _exact_ moment his kazaana fractured.

He could feel it pinch at his skin—didn't hurt much—and he could certainly feel the lacerations widen and stretch and carve themselves into his palm, his flesh tensing and tightening around his bones.

"Miroku," someone was saying, very close to him. "Miroku-sama, stop." Fingers—icy and trembling—were wrapping around his shoulder, then lower, carefully tugging on his glove and protective beads. With a sharp exhale of breath, he snapped out of it and quickly closed his fist, collapsing against whomever was holding onto him.

"Miro-kun, please, are you—"

_Kagome_.

He wanted to open his eyes, vaguely aware how much he was leaning against her and wondering how long she could actually support his weight before they both toppled over to the ground and—

She was holding his hand in both of hers. Blindly, he tried to push her away. One moment of carelessness, and his knuckles would loosen, his fingers would stretch out, and—

Kagome would be gone.

"Go away," he mumbled as her legs gave out and they collapsed to their knees, his head buried in her shoulder. Briefly, he managed to open his eyes and saw Kikyou standing over them, watching them with an unreadable expression. He could also see the few remaining demons closing in, rushing toward them, howling and wailing ominously and—

Kikyou waved a hand.

Before closing his eyes again, Miroku could see the demons drop lifelessly to the ground and the priestess walk away.

"Please," Kagome was whispering, "hold on. Please." She laid him on the ground gently, and he could feel her hair brushing against his cheeks, cooling him down. "Drink this. Please."

She sounded so frantic and so lost and so thoughtful that he had no choice but to comply. His throat stung as the liquid slid down, burning and scalding as it went. After a few moments—during which he found himself feeling very warm and comfortable and so close to a wonderful feeling of peace—Miroku blinked his eyes open.

Kagome's features slowly came into focus; she was sitting up, silky hair cascading down her shoulders, tickling his forehead. He was too sleepy to note his head was in her lap. He raised a hand to his face, an odd trickling sensation trailing near his lips.

A disturbingly coppery taste lingered in his throat as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Blood.

That—that was new.

He'd never bled before, so why—_wait_. He tilted his head back, neck rubbing against Kagome's lap. He wasn't bleeding.

_She_ was.

Her cheek was smeared with blood, marred only by a few long lines created by what Miroku presumed were tears. _Idiot_. Why'd she have to come out from that makeshift shelter—why did she—

"Don't forget," she murmured soothingly, pressing her palm to his forehead. "Don't forget. You promised."

And as he slipped into unconsciousness, all Miroku could think about was how much he wanted to ask about that cut on her cheek—to ask if it hurt—to ask if...

.

.

.

.

.

Nauseous.

He was so incredibly nauseous.

But he'd forced himself to stumble outside, away from the comfort of Kaede's hut, and followed the old man—Mushin.

Mushin, for his part, looked around, picked a spot, and sat on a fallen tree trunk. He was silent for a while, so Miroku sat opposite him, picking at the grass.

"I couldn't, you know," said Mushin suddenly, looking off into the distance. "I couldn't repair it this time."

Miroku froze, every muscle in his body tensing.

_No_.

"Idiot," continued the old man, staring at the ground and chugging from his bottle. "I told you last time to take it easy, didn't I? Didn't I? Practically ripping your hand in half is not taking it easy. _Idiot_."

Feeling empty and numb, Miroku ran a hand through his hair. "So," he said, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady, "what are my options?"

Mushin wouldn't look at him. "Options? _Options_? Are you serious?"

With an inward shrug, Miroku took the bottle away from Mushin, and took a generous mouthful. "I'm not cutting off my hand, so that's out."

Mushin's face was unreadable. "Kill the bastard."

Miroku hummed. "Working on it," he said, then paused thoughtfully. "If for some unforeseeable reason I should fail—"

"—you'll die," said Mushin coolly, taking his bottle back and swallowing heavily.

"I'm not going to die," said Miroku just as coolly. "I'm going to live longer than you, old man. Except, unlike you, I'll keep my hair."

Mushin nodded absentmindedly, slouching over his bottle.

Miroku tapped his fingers on his knees, then abruptly stood up. "Don't tell anyone."

Mushin paused. "Not even the girl?"

"Hmm?" asked Miroku, though he'd already had his suspicions.

"The younger one, with the—the talking."

Well, then. Especiallynot the girl.

"It's just... she seemed worried about you," said Mushin casually, though Miroku could feel the man's old eyes bore into him judiciously. "I didn't think you'd ever let a—"

"If you tell her, I'll kill you."

Mushin laughed boisterously, though the lines around his eyes spoke of great fatigue. "You plan to hide it? And then what? Disappear mysteriously while they're busy having tea?"

Miroku flinched. "I'm nothing like him," he said.

Mushin shrugged oafishly. "Perhaps. But at least your father had the decency to—"

"Um... am I interrupting? Mushin-sama? Houshi-sama?"

_Sango_.

Miroku arranged his features into a courteous expression. "Of course not! Even if you were, I'd rather spend time with a beautiful woman such as yourself than this old man who smells like cheap sake."

Sango flushed and tried to look aggravated, but failed miserably. "Yes, well—Kaede-sama insisted I bring you back. You need to rest, Houshi-sama."

"Ah," said Miroku theatrically, spreading his arms wide and trying not to flinch as his palm throbbed painfully. "I see," he continued thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Mushin, let me translate for you. You see, this young lady is trying to get me in bed, and—"

Sango seethed. "I can't hit you because you're still recovering, but, believe me, you'll be feeling the wrath of my _Hiraikotsu_ in a fortnight."

"Ooh," he teased weakly, "the wrath of her—"

"Shut up," said Mushin, lending his heavy shoulder for support.

Grateful, Miroku leaned against him as the trio began their return to Kaede's hut.

"Not a word," muttered Miroku darkly.

Mushin shrugged.

.

.

.

.

.

_Bored_.

He was so bored.

And angry.

Kagome hadn't come to see him.

After all her righteous gibberish about him promising not to die, it seemed as though she didn't really care when it came right down to it. Miroku had heard from Kaede that Inuyasha had been seriously wounded by Kagura before both sides decided to retreat. So, it was _reasonable_ that Kagome would've stayed by Inuyasha's side. It shouldn't have been so _surprising_ the two of them would be inseparable, and—

Someone cleared their throat discreetly. Miroku cringed. It was fine. _Only_ _Kaede_-_sama_. She would understand.

With a shaky exhale, Miroku lowered himself onto the mat, his face contorting in pain. Kaede watched him impassively, her beetle-black eyes scrutinizing every inch of him. A dismal sort of grayness was seeping through her uneven, wooden windows, offering him an excuse to snuggle deeper under the soft, fur-like covers.

Wait. _Fur_?

"They're Kagome's," said Kaede as if she'd read his mind. He gave her a startled glance, and was preparing to inform the old priestess of her complete and utter creepiness, when—

"Miroku-sama!" "Miroku!"

And before he knew what hit him—literally—Miroku was choking on a very excited kitsune.

"Shippou-chan!" giggled Kagome, tugging at his fluffy tail. "We've talked about this, remember?"

Shippou beamed up at her, then smiled at Miroku. "I'm glad you're not dead," he said happily. "But that was pretty stupid of you and—"

"Shippou-chan," chided Kagome. Shippou wrinkled his nose.

"Well, it _was_," he complained, then went to sit in the corner, playing with those odd, colored quills Kagome had brought him.

Miroku blinked up at Kagome, his features softening. No. _Remember_. _You're angry_.

"How's Inuyasha?" he asked calmly.

Kagome's face lit up. Miroku frowned. "Oh, he's fine! Won't take the medicine, as usual, but—" her fingers flew to his forehead. "Yes, uh huh, the doctor's diagnosis is in," she said thoughtfully, "you're insane."

Miroku's anger melted instantaneously. "At least I'm not alone in my madness," he raised an eyebrow. "What were you _thinking_?"

Kagome's shoulders slumped as she averted her eyes. "She—Kikyou-sama is just... confused," she began awkwardly. "She loves Inuyasha. I know she does."

Miroku winced, feeling guilty for ever being upset with Kagome. "Have you gone home yet?" he changed the subject, not quite sure why. "You've been here for—"

"—two weeks," nodded Kagome.

"Won't your family be worried?"

She smiled an odd little smile. "It's not my family I'm worried about."

_Oh_.

The anger came rushing back before Miroku could stop to think. _Him again_.

"Besides," she continued perkily, "I've been helping Kaede-baachan take care of you. I think that justifies my staying here."

Ruefully, Miroku glanced at her. "You've come to see me?"

Kagome blinked. "_See_ you? I've been here most of the time." She gave him a worried look. "You sleep a lot, you know."

She'd been with him?

Miroku grinned sheepishly, lifting his hand to her cheek. "How's your cut?"

Cheeks pink, Kagome wrapped her fingers around his hand and lowered it back to his side, practically tucking him in. "You better tell me if your kazaana is hurting," she mumbled, her eyes focused on a crease in the covers.

Miroku flinched. He didn't exactly want to be reminded.

"Um," she added hastily. "When you get your foot out of the grave, that is."

Miroku tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back down. Frowning, Miroku schooled his features, and said, in a firm, steady voice, "I can take care of myself, Kagome-sama."

Kagome smiled brilliantly. Miroku's stomach tightened with unease and something he couldn't quite distinguish.

"Just because you _can_ doesn't mean you _want_ to," she quoted him happily, "Or, that you should have to."

With a startled breath, Miroku looked at her.

And there was that crack in the theory.

Because she was right. He had absolutely no objections to Kagome taking care of him. But—if he allowed her to get any closer (as if he had a choice now), if he allowed himself to stay around her—his imaginary golden middle would _disappear_.

And as Kagome kept watching him as though he'd vanish if she stopped paying attention, Miroku knew, with absolute, undeniable certainty, that _yes_—

He was utterly, definitely, unquestionably _doomed_.


	8. Barricade

**Author's** **Note**: I die now.

.

.

.

**Chapter Six: _Barricade_**

_I cannot say whether things will get better if we change_;

_what I can say is they must change if they are to get better_.

.

.

.

**Why I Should _Not_ Stay in Tokyo This Week:**

1. I promised to bring Shippou candy.

2. Inuyasha.

3. Miroku-sama is still recovering.

4.

"Ack! This shouldn't be _this_ hard."

4. Mr. Makoto might give us a surprise Geometry exam?

"Wait. No—"

4. Jewel shards!

"...will be there _next_ week..."

4. Miroku-sama... um...

5. Is evil.

6. Has licked me. Twice.

7. And thinks he's cute.

8. He's—he's... not monogamous. And he drinks. And—

"Um. Wow. Tangent. Maybe... maybe I could just—ugh. No!"

.

**Why I Should Stay Away From Miroku:**

.

1. He's distracting.

"...hnnn."

2.

2.

2.

"What'cha writing?"

Kagome, who'd been waiting for the rest of her classmates to change into their gym clothes, jumped up.

"Yuka-chan!" she yelped, flushing. "Just... um—grocery list!"

"Oh, _Kagome_-_chan_," chided Yuka morosely, shaking her head, "you're so grown up!"

"Um, eheh, yeah," coughed Kagome, stuffing the crinkled piece of paper into her backpack, and straightening her shorts. It was only her first day back—a bright, sunny Tuesday—and she'd already managed to miss all but her last class.

She'd _tried_. She'd tried to be on time. She'd tried to remember Tokyo ran on minutes and seconds. Tried to remember _clocks_ determined a girl's schedule, _not_ cranky demons in search of legendary jewels. Tried to adjust from running away from evil spiders to running _toward_ evil educational institutions.

Obviously, she'd failed miserably. And now—

Now she was... in withdrawal.

Withdrawal?

Discreetly, Kagome glanced at the bustling school playground.

She couldn't spot Miroku among the throng of boys—not that she was _looking_ or anything—so she followed her friends' cue, and leaned against the thin wire fence surrounding the quad. Occasionally, a few of the boys would stumble and cough as they passed them, evidently distracted by the silly little shorts the girls were required to wear. Eventually, the class naturally settled down; a small group of students claimed the basketball court, while the lazy majority scampered off to enjoy the late afternoon without... exertion... and...

Where the hell was Miroku?

"Yuka-chan," asked Kagome carefully, trying to mask her worried frown. "Has Mi—Kazuo-kun... er—since I missed the first... six classes today—"

Erri tilted her head. "Kagome-chan?"

Kagome winced. "I guess what I'm trying to ask is—did he come to school today?"

Yuka giggled. "Well, Kazuo-kun _has_ been very busy lately—what with organizing several fieldtrips and all—but I don't think he's ever missed a day of class."

Kagome sighed.

Ayumi raised an eyebrow. "Kagome-chan," she noted observantly, "you never did tell us why you and Kazuo-san seem so... close."

"We're not really _that_ clo—"

"Or why he seems to know so much about you—"

"He doesn't _really_—"

"Or why you even _like_ him."

Kagome paled. "What? I don't—"

"Well," sang Yuka merrily. "He _is_ the class president. It's okay to like him."

"I suppose," shrugged Ayumi, while Erri eagerly bounced toward Kagome.

"He is sorta, well... pretty, don't you think?" she giggled, prompting Kagome to cautiously inch away and turn her back to the basketball court. "And he always helps everyone—"

"—and he smells so nice—" cooed Yuka.

"—and I guess he is kinda smart—" grumped Ayumi.

"—and funny—" nodded Erri.

"—and cute—" added Kagome finally, unable to resist any longer.

"—and behind you."

Kagome stiffened. And suddenly—

Strong, warm fingers were digging into her shoulders, accompanied by a soft whisper against her temple. "Hmm," the deep, familiar voice told her quietly, "you were gone so long, I was tempted to tell the school you were pregnant," then quickly segued into a loud, hearty greeting.

Kagome choked violently as Miroku—who'd clearly acquired an invisibility cloak while she wasn't paying attention—slowly released her, placing a quick kiss on her forehead in the process. Automatically, Kagome backed up against the fence, wondering how he'd managed to sneak up on her and—and—what was he _doing_!

"You're late," said Miroku playfully, tilting his head and placing his hands on the fence, effectively trapping Kagome between his arms. Flushing to the tips of her toes, Kagome opened her mouth to clarify a few points—specifically, ones concerning his horrid conduct—but—

Oh.

Miroku was wearing a t-shirt.

A plain, white, worn-out t-shirt. Nothing special. But...

His skin was darkened attractively by the sun—and the white shirt and the black hair and the blue eyes—and _tanned_.

Pretty.

"Kiss me," he said.

Kagome imploded. "Uhm...?"

"For luck," he explained ambiguously, nodding over his shoulder at the small group of boys watching them. "Important game, you know."

"Uh huh," nodded Kagome, trying not to die of embarrassment and... other, less acceptable, things.

"Playing against 1-E," he continued, biting his bottom lip.

"Uh huh."

"Don't want us to _lose_, do you?" he coaxed cleverly, his nose practically rubbing against hers.

"No."

"No, you won't kiss me, or—" he grinned, his hands moving closer, "—no, you don't want us to lose?"

"I don't want you to lose," she said to no one in particular, then—

Rose up on her tippy-toes and pecked his cheek, ducking down and away from a random assortment of whoops and cheers coming from what were presumably Miroku's teammates. And so, blushing uncomfortably, Kagome hid behind Yuka, watching Miroku walk away. A goofy grin etched itself across his face as several enthusiastic friends patted him on the back.

"Aah!" Erri melted. "Cute!"

Kagome was far from disagreeing, but managed to arrange her features into an offended scowl.

"What?"

"Nothing," she muttered. "He sure is... perky today."

Yuka nodded. "Yep! Guess he's over his cold."

Kagome raised both eyebrows. "Cold?"

"Cold, yes," said Erri worriedly. "He's been a little sick lately (Kagome's chest tightened most painfully), and we figured it was the same cold _you_ had—are you better, by the way?—but he seems okay now."

Kagome turned her head slightly, trying to watch Miroku without being too obvious about it.

"You know," hummed Yuka. "You've been sick a lot lately, Kagome-chan. Again. Have you thought about switching doctors? Because I have this one lady—she's practicing western medicine and—"

But Kagome had stopped paying attention ages ago. Because—

Because Miroku had apparently just scored three points for his team, and, and... guh, why hadn't she paid attention to basketball terms when she'd had the chance? Remarkably, basketball didn't seem quite as boring all of a sudden. After all, there were muscles flexing and legs stretching and shoulders tensing and—

OW!

"Kagome-chan, are you alright!?"

Kagome whimpered from where she'd been knocked down by a stray volleyball. Dazed, she rubbed her forehead, her bottom lip curling with a sniffle.

"Watch where you throw that thing!" shouted Yuka protectively, shooing the culprit off. "You're not playing dodgeball, you know!"

"Yuka-chan, I'm okay—"

"I'll go get the nurse!"

"No, Erri-chan, I'm—!"

"Stand back!" came a familiar voice.

Oh, dear God, no.

_Hojou_-_kun_.

Parting the crowd and swooping down and—_NO_!

"Stand back," he repeated enthusiastically, "I have training in first aid—"

"I don't need—"

Hojou fussed with his shirt for a moment, then awkwardly bent his head lower, cupping Kagome's face.

No, no, _no_! _Can't_. _Don't_.

His lips were nearing hers, drawing closer and closer—and no, she didn't want him to be her first—it had to be special—not like this and—

Huh.

_Where'd_ _Hojou_ _go_?

Blinking her eyes open, Kagome sighed with relief. _Miroku_. Miroku had yanked Hojou off.

Kagome sat up, grateful and appreciative and... a little worried, because—

"What were you doing?" asked Miroku calmly, though his eyes were unusually dark.

Hojou rubbed his bruised elbow. "Um," he mumbled uncertainly, "CPR?"

Coolly, Miroku knelt down, pressing his fingers to Kagome's aching forehead. "_Cardiopulmonary_ Resuscitation?" he asked angrily—angrily?—and turned his head to address a blushing Hojou-kun. "You realize, of course, she was hit on the _head_, right?"

Hojou clenched his fists. "I was just trying to help."

Miroku raised an intrigued eyebrow.

Kagome squirmed.

_God, please? Please don't let him_—

"No. You were trying to grope her," said Miroku, wrapping his fingers around Kagome's wrist and gently pulling her up. "That's my job," he finished, grinning evilly.

Kagome wasn't certain whether Hojou-kun would demand a transfer first, or if she'd manage to beat him to it. Because—no. No, no, _no_.

"He_llo_?" said a disembodied voice from somewhere behind them. "We have a game to play, remember? Higurashi-san's degenerating love life is not an excuse to slack off!"

Reluctantly, the crowd dissipated, grumbling and throwing surreptitious glances at Kagome and her incredulous entourage.

"Um..." began Yuka.

"Yes..." continued Erri.

Ayumi, on the other hand, chose that moment to explode. "Yasuo-san, are you _trying_ to get Kagome EXPELLED? You can't just—just—make people think you and her are—and—whhh—what if a teacher had overhead you and—poor Hojou-kun!"

Yuka and Erri nodded encouragingly, shooting Miroku twin glares of absolute disapproval.

Miroku grinned. "Ayumi-chan," he purred silkily, "I apologize, but you must realize I don't share well with other children."

Yuka and Erri melted. Kagome resisted joining the melty puddle of goo, though her immunity was quickly wearing thin.

Ayumi, for her part, narrowed her eyes suspiciously and said, "Technically, Kagome-chan's not yours to share."

Kagome blanched.

A tiny lightbulb seemed to appear over Yuka's head. "Ah! That's right! Kagome-chan's dating some possessive stalker who's cheating on her with another girl! How could we forget?"

Miroku blinked, then quickly looked at Kagome.

Kagome scuffed her toe in the dirt, twisting her hands nervously. "Uh, no, I—"

"Wait," interrupted Erri, whispering conspiratorially, "I thought she broke up with him when she met that crazy guy who screams a lot and hates that other crazy guy?"

Miroku blinked again.

Kagome could practically feel her ears burning. "No, I—"

"Well, no matter!" said Ayumi, shaking her fist with determination. "They're _all_ bad for her! But Hojou-kun—Hojou-kun is nice. Kagome-chan should be with him."

"I—"

"Yeah!" agreed Erri.

Kagome flinched and opened her mouth to explain—possibly to Miroku—that...that—

"Oh!" shrieked Yuka suddenly, snapping her fingers. "What about that third guy? The—what did you say he does? The Buddhist guy?"

Kagome wondered why God hated her.

Miroku, though, was beaming at her proudly, his lips twisting into a conceited sort of grin.

"Oh. So, she mentions him, does she?" he asked nonchalantly.

Yuka appeared thoughtful. "You know, come to think of it..." she began, "Kagome-chan _has_ been talking about him a lot more these past two months and—"

"I—_no_!"

"—and," added Erri enthusiastically, "the way she describes him now, you'd think she was—"

"—nhhhsss—!"

"But isn't he in love with someone else?" interrupted Ayumi helpfully, turning to face a thoroughly humiliated Kagome. "Isn't that what you said?"

Kagome tried very hard to compose herself without committing suicide. "I thought he was, but... no."

Miroku's expression was unreadable.

"So, he's not in love with anyone?" asked Erri curiously, clapping her hands with an encouraging gleam in her eye.

Miroku's features darkened. "I wouldn't say that."

Kagome blinked as her heart skipped a beat or four. What? Was he—did they... had Miroku met someone else during their journey? Was he referring to someone they were yet to meet, or someone they'd already met? Like, that girl... Koharu, was it? Or one of those village girls who fell for his fake palm readings? Or—

"Oh, so you know this guy, too, Kazuo-kun?" asked Yuka, hugging Kagome's arm. "Is he good enough for our Kagome-chan?"

Miroku smiled ruefully. "Yes, I do. And no, he's not."

"Oh."

Kagome tried desperately to decide whether she was angry or... _angry_.

"Hff!" she exploded, extracting herself from Yuka's embrace in order to poke Miroku's stupid chest. "You don't—you're not—you _can't_!"

Miroku's eyes widened slightly. "And now in Japanese, for those of us who are still learning your language?"

Kagome took a deep, calming breath. "You have no right to decide who is and isn't good enough for me."

Miroku seemed taken aback for a moment, his features softening. Then, to Kagome's relief, he gave a short nod, and grabbed her hand. "Of course I do," he said theatrically. "As your future husband, I have every right to object."

And as her friends _blew_ _up_, Kagome decided to definitely visit the nearest pharmacy and inquire about its supply of arsenic.

"Marriage?" shouted Yuka frantically, shaking Kagome by the shoulders.

Kagome shut her eyes tightly.

Perhaps—

Perhaps she was wrong.

Perhaps this wasn't Miroku.

Perhaps this was actually _Naraku_.

"When!" yelled Erri.

A strange, wild emotion swept through Kagome. She could feel it—the beginning—building from within, bubbling up to the surface, warming every inch of her.

Fun.

She was having _fun_.

"Just don't get married before you graduate!" cried Ayumi desperately.

Kagome couldn't help it. She glanced at Miroku, saw his amused expression, and forced herself to sit down on the warm concrete. "Oh, please," she said, dissolving into a fit of giggles, "that's so 1542."

No one but Miroku would get that, she knew, and this specific bit of knowledge made the subtle wink he sent her somehow... special?

"So—so... you _are_ together," accused Yuka, pouting.

Kagome felt a twinge of guilt, though it was promptly assuaged by her mounting excitement.

"I—" she began, but Ayumi—who'd marched up to Miroku, demanding answers—cut her off.

"Why should we trust your intentions are good? Why shouldn't we assume you're just trying to get in her pants?"

Miroku brought two fingers to his chin. "Well, for one," he began, shrugging his shoulders, "I've already seen her naked."

Chagrined, the three girls turned to Kagome as one. "NAKED? He's not—not telling the truth, is he? _Is_ _he_? Kagome? KAGOME!"

Kagome went brick red. _Well, technically_...

"Never mind!" raged Ayumi. "How exactly do you plan to care for her? Are you rich?"

"Ayumi-chan!"

"How many children did you agree on?"

"A—!"

"Where will you live? Where will you work? Pets? Cars? Vacations abroad? How will you raise your children? Christian or Buddhist—?"

"AYUMI!"

Kagome buried her head in her hands, practically on the verge of hysterics. A gentle pat on the back made her look up.

"Well," grinned Miroku as he sat next to her, "we're certainly not in a hurry, right?"

Kagome nodded numbly.

Miroku raised an eyebrow, then continued, "In fact, we probably won't get married—" (Kagome frowned, wondering why her chest hurt), "—until we graduate from university?"

Kagome sighed, an odd sense of relief washing over her.

"And," continued Miroku casually. "Two kids?"

Kagome bit her lip. "Adopted?"

"Buddhist?"

"Both."

"Okay."

Kagome tilted her head, oblivious to her friends' wild blinking. "Pets?"

Miroku waved a haughty hand. "Pets? _Cats_, you mean."

Kagome pouted.

Miroku persisted. "No dogs."

Kagome sulked. "But puppies are cute. And—and—"

"—and they're more trouble than they're worth," he added, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, they're not very smart."

Kagome's eyes widened.

_When did we stop pretending_?

"But they're... nice," she mumbled, faltering.

"And fickle."

A tiny shiver stretched across Kagome's back. "But dogs are _loyal_."

And then it happened. Miroku tensed, tangled his fingers with hers, and looked at her—_really looked at her_—with an incredibly annoyed, jaded, furious look.

"Only to their _masters_, Kagome," he growled seriously. "Not their mates."

Kagome didn't want to play anymore.

But—

Was that what Kikyou was? Was that why Inuyasha was so blindly loyal to her; why he loved her so much; why he'd never truly get over her? Was that—was that what he _needed_?

"You're right," she whispered, pleased that her voice betrayed none of her inner torment. With a cautious glance at Miroku—who appeared very anxious, as though he was afraid he'd stepped over some imaginary line—Kagome tightened her grip on his fingers.

"Fine," she muttered, pursing her lips. "But I'm going to divorce you after I turn forty, and marry some sherpa guide."

To Kagome's delight, Miroku smiled brilliantly. "Fine. I'll write a scathing collection of memoirs detailing your torrid affair to the world."

She narrowed her eyes dramatically. "You wouldn't! Think of the children."

He had opened his mouth to retaliate, but a sudden coughing fit brought them both back to reality.

And their bewildered spectators.

"Well," mumbled Yuka.

"Yes," added Erri.

Ayumi, though, cocked her head approvingly. "Finally. Someone with _goals_," she applauded happily. "Now, what about your contingency plan?"

It was much later, when the class was on the verge of dismissal, that Kagome felt herself relax. Because—as Ayumi kept jotting down baby names and car models—Kagome realized she hadn't really thought about the future; hadn't thought past Inuyasha, past the Shikon.

She'd had plans before, hadn't she?

They were all very vague and possibly childish now, but they were _hers_.

And—and—

Miroku's plans weren't half-bad, even if they _were_ so ridiculously fake. School and adventure and yes. Yes. All things taken into consideration, their life sounded so nice. So perfect, so—

Wait. Wait. WAIT.

_Their_ life?

Mortified, Kagome decided to pay attention to the conversation, but soon found that it had degenerated into a pointless colloquy of—of...

Why was Miroku looking at her like that?

"What?" she asked hesitantly.

"Your friends just moved up our wedding date to next week," he whispered.

Kagome tried not to smile. "When exactly will we tell them the truth? _After_ they buy us a toaster?"

A dark lock of hair brushed against Miroku's forehead, distracting Kagome from, well, pretty much everything else. "The truth?"

"Yes."

"We haven't told them a single lie today," said Miroku disdainfully. His hand instinctively slid to Kagome's knee. "We're getting married." His fingers crept up slowly as a wicked grin spread over his face. "Next week, apparently."

Halfheartedly, Kagome tried prying his fingers off. "Miroku-sama."

"Hmm," he breathed, close enough to lick her (not that she _wanted_ him to lick her or anything). "At least we'll get a week off for our honeymoon."

Kagome swallowed hard, finding herself less and less inclined to push his hand away. "What?"

"Mh hmm. Next week," he grinned.

She snapped out of it. "You're not giving me a choice?" she huffed dramatically.

His lips curled. "You never gave me one."

Kagome exhaled harshly. What was he _talking_ about?

"Actually," began Miroku, leaning closer and running a thumb across her reddening cheeks. "Now that you're here," he continued softly, his eyes darkening, "I don't need—no, I don't _want_ to make plans anymore."

"Miro—"

"Kazuo-kun!" came a loud, cheery voice.

Kagome turned her head. A girl she vaguely recognized as a senior was approaching them fast, waving wildly.

"Hey, isn't that—?" began Yuka, squeezing herself between Miroku and Kagome.

"Good afternoon, Mitsuko-senpai," greeted Miroku politely.

Kagome eyed him suspiciously.

This... Mitsuko-san observed all five of her younger peers, then zoomed in on Miroku. Flushing, Kagome scooted away, though she immediately regretted it, because—

"Ooh," squealed Mitsuko, bouncing. "I saw what you did earlier at the basketball court! That was so nice and caring of you. To help your—" here, she threw a quick, calculating glance at Kagome. "Your little... sister? Cousin? Neighbor?"

Seething, Kagome stiffened, waiting for Miroku to correct the girl, correct her _now_.

"Ah. You flatter me," he said instead, smiling irresistibly. "I did nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you."

Kagome twitched.

"Actually, Yasuo-kun and Kagome-chan are d—" began Erri enthusiastically, but was interrupted by Mitsuko's condescending wave.

"—that's nice. May we speak in private, Kazuo-kun? About Friday's fieldtrip?" she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Kagome wondered—as Miroku stood up, perfectly unperturbed—why she had the sudden urge to locate her bow and arrow and, well... _use_ it. Repeatedly.

"You don't mind, do you?" asked Miroku innocently, then strolled off without waiting for Kagome's reply.

_Must_... _suppress_... _urge_... _to_... _kill_.

"Kagome-chan!" whined Erri, retying one of Kagome's white bows. "You can't let your boyfriend talk to that girl."

Yuka was likewise chagrined. "Don't you know Mitsuko-sempai is—is... well, she's not very nice."

Kagome's brow furrowed. "He's not my b—" she began, then caught a glimpse of Mitsuko flipping her hair with a flirty giggle.

Keh.

Kagome crossed her arms over her chest, frowning childishly. Mitsuko—well, one might consider the girl... pretty (if one were blind and stupid and—), but she totally wasn't Miroku's type and—

Argh! What was she _saying_? Miroku didn't _have_ a type. Miroku liked all girls, regardless of their obvious shamelessness and—and—and—

_How_ _dare_ _he_!

Kagome fumed, peripherally oblivious to her escalating double standard. Because—

Because it was impossible to begrudge either Inuyasha or Kikyou. After all, they'd loved each other five hundred and fifty years before Kagome had even been born. Kikyou was Inuyasha's... well, Kikyou was Inuyasha's first love, and a big part of him would always love her with this desperate, incredible sort of love Kagome could only dream of.

Kagome could _understand_ that.

Mitsuko, on the other hand—

Kagome stood up, prying Erri's fingers away from her hair, and traipsed over to where Miroku was standing with that—that—

"Kazuo-kun," she said slowly, anger edging her voice. Both Miroku and Mitsuko turned. Mitsuko frowned with annoyance, while Miroku raised a very amused eyebrow, as if he'd been waiting for Kagome to say something.

Kagome cleared her throat uncomfortably. _God, I hate him_ _for making me do this_.

"Shouldn't we be leaving soon?" she mumbled.

"What's that, Higurashi-san?" he asked innocently, putting a hand to his ear as if he had trouble hearing her.

Kagome was beyond furious. "Shouldn't. We. Be. Leaving. Soon?"

Miroku smirked, not budging an inch. "Leaving?"

Kagome balled up her fists. "Yes."

Miroku watched her intently, a small smile warming his features. "Where?"

Kagome glanced at the irritated scowl currently marring Mitsuko's face, then raised her chin high in the air and said, without pausing to think, "Home."

Miroku grinned triumphantly. "I'm sorry," he said, barely able to keep a straight face. "What did you say?"

"I think she said—" blinked Mitsuko, her eyes darting from Miroku to Kagome. "Uh. Do you—do you guys live together or something?"

Kagome's eyes widened in horror. With an anxious gasp, she reached out a hand to cover Miroku's mouth before he said something stup—

"Yes."

Kagome whimpered, her shoulders slumping in defeat. And then, she somehow ended up—

—wrapped in Miroku's arms, staring at a scandalized Mitsuko with wide, terrified eyes. "Uhn, Mi—"

"You mustn't tell anyone, of course, Mitsuko-san," said Miroku nonchalantly, resting his chin on Kagome's shoulder. "Think how poorly something like this would reflect on a class president."

Mitsuko nodded numbly, staring at Kagome as though she was working for the Yakuza.

"How exactly did you get elected class president? Poisoned the competition?" grumbled Kagome once Mitsuko was out of earshot. She could feel Miroku's lips curve against her skin, wondering all the while why she hadn't pushed him away yet; pried his fingers off hers; stepped on his foot; slapped that stupid grin off his stupid face and—

"You were jealous."

Kagome froze. "What?"

Miroku spun her around, boring his dark eyes into hers. "I need you to promise something to _me_ this time."

"Promise you what?"

Miroku looked away from her as the class was officially dismissed somewhere in the background. "Try to remember when you go back."

Kagome's throat was dry. Remember _what_?

But Miroku was already heading for the locker rooms.

And as she watched his back—seriously, white on tan...—Kagome wondered why he didn't mind if the whole school thought she was his, er... whatever. Because... why? Why _wasn't_ he dating anyone? For real, that is. Certainly, he seemed to attract attention, so... why? Was he still hung up Sango? Wait. No. He was never actually—with Sango—and...

Sigh.

And so, as she changed back into her uniform, waiting for Miroku to walk her home, Kagome kept scowling. There should've been an instruction booklet passed around, first day of class; one that could specify the particulars of this... friendship thing. Because, really, all of this?

More disturbing than Naraku.

_Oh_, _well_, thought Kagome. At least it couldn't get any worse.

.

.

.

.

.

On Wednesday, Kagome was—once again—proven so very, _very_ wrong.

On her way to school, she'd met up with a very sleepy Ayumi, as had been her habit before she'd gone in search of her nosy cat, and consequently, a shattered jewel. Conveniently, it seemed as though it would be another beautiful, carefree summer day; the younger students weren't crowding her or the street; she'd been able to finish all her homework the day before, and was discussing the finer points of geographical conveniences with Ayumi when—

"Ohayo, and welcome to our morning news!"

Kagome blinked, trying to fend off a very bright, very sharp light. A short chubby boy with glasses was smiling widely at her, stuffing what looked like a ratty microphone in Kagome's face.

"What the—?"

"Higurashi-san!" said the boy, bowing at what seemed to be a big black... CAMERA.

"Ayumi-chan—" muttered Kagome apprehensively, tugging at her friend's sleeve. "_Ayumi_-_chan_..."

"What did you do _now_?" asked Ayumi.

"Higurashi-san!" repeated the boy, jogging after them. "We're just doing a segment on undergraduate class presidents and—"

"No!"

"Higurashi-saaaaaaaaaaan!" whined the boy, waving his wobbly cameraman over. "Just five minutes!"

Kagome panicked.

Gate, there. Wall, here. Exit! Where!

"Please, Higurashi-san," sniffled the boy, adjusting his thick glasses.

Kagome's shoulders slumped in defeat. Every last cell in her body was wailing loudly, reminding her she'd already had her quota of humiliation this week. But the boy looked innocent enough (_I_ _wonder_ _what_ _Shippou's_ _doing_ _right_ _now_...), and even though it was extremely unusual for students to—to—well, know her name, Kagome decided she could spare the poor kid a minute or two. "All right, but—"

"Yay! Okay, let's start!" said the boy, gripping his microphone maniacally.

Kagome tensed.

"Well, Higurashi-san," he began briskly, "it's common knowledge that our school festivals are among the best, most intricate, events in the county. This year's festival is in pre-production, but with the impending custodian's strike, there is serious doubt that Yasuo_-_san will be able to complete the project on schedule, if at all. Is it true you're pregnant with his child?"

Kagome blinked incredulously. "Wh—what?"

"Ohh!" shrieked the boy. "She's not denying it!"

"Wait—"

"You heard it here first, folks!"

Kagome turned to a very pale Ayumi. "He's not hearing a word I'm saying, is he?"

Ayumi shook her head.

"What's going on?"

Kagome spun on her heel. She'd never, ever, been so happy to see anyone.

Miroku!

"Ah!" cried the boy ecstatically, shoving the microphone in Miroku's face. "Can we get a confirmation, Yasuo-san?"

Miroku blinked, swatting at the camera. "On...?"

Kagome was by his side in an instant. "I think Mitsuko-senpai didn't like your little act yesterday."

Miroku frowned, then brightened. "Oh. Sure," he told the kid helpfully. "You've got it."

Kagome resisted the urge to smack her forehead.

The boy, on the other hand, seemed on the verge of passing out. "Aren't you worried this will affect your reelection chances next year?"

Miroku flashed his pearly whites at the camera. "Not at all. I believe something like this can only reflect well on both Kagome-san and m—what's wrong, Kagome?"

Kagome groaned, trying to pinch him, because... because he obviously didn't _understand_—

"And your parents? How did they take the news?"

Miroku faltered, glancing at Kagome. "What do you mean? They were... happy, of course?"

"Really!" wailed the boy, thrilled beyond reason. "Traditionally, parents tend to have difficulties dealing with the prospect of becoming grandparents, but yours are obviously coping above and beyond any and all expectations."

Miroku blanched. "...grandparents?"

Kagome huffed, crossing her arms petulantly. "Faulty grapevine."

Miroku rubbed his eyes wearily. "What exactly did I just confirm?"

The boy and his cameraman exchanged glances, then quickly—very quickly—packed up, and darted toward the entrance, disappearing from view within a second.

"Congratulations. Hope it's twins," muttered a still-dazed Ayumi as she wobbled off, leaving Kagome to glare murderously at a flustered Miroku.

"Well," murmured Miroku eventually, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "I guess there's only one thing we can do now, before the rumors get out of hand."

Kagome tilted her head. "Relocate to China?"

Miroku grinned, though his smile was somehow distant. "Nope. Time to meet my parents."

.

.

.

.

.

Thursday evening, oddly enough, couldn't roll around soon enough.

Though she wouldn't—_couldn't_—admit it, Kagome was deathly curious. She'd been so, so, _so_ interested in Miroku's parents. Because, well... spying. And hints. And all the little things she hoped to pick up about Miroku's past.

Embarrassing baby pictures were merely an added bonus, of course.

"Concentrate," grumbled Miroku, wrestling a photo album away from a very giddy Kagome. "Solve for _f_."

Kagome sniffled. "You're a very mean tutor. There are better ways to kill time before your parents come home."

She had, predictably, been referring to snooping—or possibly pilfering through his pocky collection—but, Miroku...

Miroku was looking at her with a smile that was entirely too innocent.

"Well, we could always play Twister instead," he suggested sweetly.

A quick mental image of twisted limbs zipped through Kagome's head. "NO."

"Then solve for _f_."

After five minutes of trying to solve for _f_ (and wondering why the alphabet had so many letters which invariably had to end up as stupid, stupid inequalities), Kagome threw her hands in the air, rubbed her eyes tiredly, and whined, "On second thought, I'd rather play Twister."

And before she could properly process what was happening, Miroku had pinned her to the floor.

"Uh," she said sheepishly. "Of course, I was only kidding."

"Uh huh," he said, but seemed strangely distracted. "Kagome-sama?"

Kagome shivered. His voice—

"Why hasn't your fever gone away yet?" he asked, arranging his features into a worried frown and letting her sit up.

Kagome brought a hand to her forehead, then felt her cheek. Okay, so she was a little warm, but—

"Eh," she bit her lip. "I—"

"We're home!" said a deep voice from somewhere downstairs. "You'd better be clothed."

Miroku smirked, then shouted loudly, "Give us a minute! We seem to have lost her bra!"

Kagome eyed the window dreamily, wondering what her odds of surviving a ten-meter jump were.

Muffled laughter drifted through the door, and soon, she was standing up and facing a distinguished older man and trying to execute a perfect little bow without giving herself a heart attack and... _calm down_. _Breathe_. This was just Miroku's father. She didn't... need his approval or anything _real_ like that. It wasn't as though she and Miroku were... _together_.

Kagome snorted inwardly.

Right. _With Miroku_. _In love with Miroku_. Maybe when pigs started flying. Or when hell froze over. Yeah, that. When. Hell. Froze. Over.

"You must be Kagome-kun," said Miroku's father politely.

Kagome relaxed slightly. She'd opened her mouth to apologize for her previous behavior, but—

"And you were _born_ with that name, I take it?"

Kagome started, glancing at Miroku. "Um, yes?"

"Didn't change a couple kanji or anything?"

"No...?"

Miroku shook his head. "You'll have to excuse him. He thinks both of us are insane."

"Not both of you," said Mr. Yasuo defensively. "Just you, son."

Kagome tried to bite back a giggle.

Mr. Yasuo glanced at her amusedly. "And when did you two meet? Exactly?"

Kagome cleared her throat. '_1542_' seemed a little... insane, so she went with, "Half a year ago."

Miroku's father pinched the bridge of his nose, his thin-rimmed glasses slipping lower. "Half a year ago, eh?"

Miroku grinned victoriously.

Kagome was a little... lost.

Mr. Yasuo, for his part, sighed in defeat. "We moved here barely four months ago."

Kagome froze.

"Never mind," said Mr. Yasuo, smacking his lips. "We can continue this conversation over dinner."

And with that, he left Kagome alone with Miroku. Which was nice, because—because it was time. She _had_ to ask. Had to _understand_.

"How much do they know?"

Miroku grew serious. "Enough."

"And a more detailed answer...?"

Miroku flinched. "I didn't always remember," he began slowly. "And I didn't just wake up one day and go, 'Oh, yeah, hey, my name is Miroku and I lived five centuries ago, battling demons.' "

Kagome could barely remember to breathe. "How much—how much do you remember? _Really_?"

Miroku looked up at her. "Everything," he mumbled. "Now."

"Now?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes, it seems as though moving here sped up the... process, or whatever you want to call it."

Kagome's heart wanted to jump out of her chest. "But... _how_?"

Miroku's expression was, once again, unreadable, though Kagome could recognize faint traces of frustration. "I don't know. I thought maybe _you'd_ know, but I... couldn't risk asking."

Kagome sat down on the carpet, folding her hands in her lap. "Me? How could _I_ know if _you_... oh."

_Oh_, _God_.

"Because you died," she whispered.

Miroku seemed intent on ignoring her last sentence. "For a while I thought it might've had something to do with the jewel, but..."

No. There was only _one_ jewel—_one_ wish—and whoever managed (will manage) to wish upon the Shikon would _definitely _not [have] wish[ed] for this. Not for something this... trivial. Because there was Inuyasha. Inuyasha, who wanted to become a demon. And Sango. Sango, who wanted her brother back. And hundreds of demons and humans alike who craved power and wealth and—

"Miroku," she said softly. "Can I change it? So you don't die?"

Miroku was watching her oddly. "Why would you want to?"

Kagome paused. '_Because_ _you're_ _my_ _friend'_ didn't seem adequate at all, so she settled on, "Because I—"

"Are you two coming down or what?" came Mr. Yasuo's deeply amused voice. "_Before_ I become a grandfather?"

"Oh, just ignore him, children," came another, softer voice. "But, really, must we hear such news from a thirteen-year-old paparazzi?"

Kagome flushed, mortified, then quietly followed Miroku down the stairs, exchanging pleasantries with Miroku's mother. Thankfully, both of Miroku's parents were nice, average people—a little less traditional than she was used to, but...

"Now that you're part of the family," cooed Mrs. Yasuo, compelling Kagome to choke on a mouthful of seaweed, "I thought we could have a little talk."

Both Miroku and Kagome paled instantaneously.

"Not about _that_!" laughed Mrs. Yasuo delightedly. "This Shikon business—"

"Hypothetically speaking," continued Mr. Yasuo for his wife, who seemed preoccupied with a stubborn riceball, "if the Shikon no Tama _were_ real, at some point in time..."

"...why hasn't the world been drastically changed by its existence?" finished Mrs. Yasuo, giving up on her food. "Why is Tokyo here? Because there have been instances, near the ruins of Tenochititlán, where entire cities seem to have disappeared mysteriously and—"

Kagome glanced at Miroku, startled.

Miroku grinned, raising an eyebrow and trying to hide a proud smirk. Unsuccessfully. "They're archaeologists," he explained.

Mr. Yasuo nodded absentmindedly. "From what Kazuo has told us—"

"—and the ancient scrolls, dear. Don't forget the ancient scrolls—"

"From what we've _gathered_, this jewel of yours had practically no limits. And if there were indeed demons everywhere, why are there none today? Did a human complete the jewel and rid the world of them? Or was the jewel never completed? Did the demons fully die out? Are there still some among us? Are—"

"You're giving them aneurysms, dear," quipped Mrs. Yasuo.

"No," said Kagome softly. "That must be it."

Miroku frowned. "Kagome?"

Kagome looked up, tapping her chopsticks on the table absentmindedly. "The jewel must've never been completed."

Miroku eyed the table skeptically. "How do you figure?"

Slowly, Kagome straightened, thinking as she spoke. "With Naraku there, there's no way one of _us_ will be able—_was_ able to make a wish."

"And if _Naraku_ had completed the Shikon," nodded Miroku, "I don't think any of us would be sitting here today, talking."

"But that still doesn't explain _you_," said Kagome desperately. She _was_ getting an aneurysm.

Miroku's brow furrowed in concentration. "Hmm. If the jewel was never complete... where are the shards?"

"Don't ignore me!" said Kagome angrily. "And stop trying to change the topic! I have to know why you—uhm."

Miroku's parents were watching them intently. Kagome shrank back in her seat.

"Theoretically," said Mr. Yasuo as though nothing had happened, "if you're both established as clinically insane, do you think we could save on cost and place you in the same room?"

"No," sighed Mrs. Yasuo, "I think most mental institutions have rules about fraternization."

Kagome smiled. _Okay, I get it_._ Next time_.

"There is one other thing that's been bothering us, Kagome-kun," frowned Mr. Yasuo once the table was cleared and its occupants full. "How are you able to travel back and forth? Kazuo's been remiss to mention it."

"Because it's Kagome's business, not yours," said Miroku flippantly, scooting closer to Kagome, and effectively ending the conversation.

Kagome was having a hard time trying to not die of curiosity. She wanted to know everything. Everything about Miroku. She wondered briefly how long it would take to learn everything—about both his lifetimes—but was promptly distracted by an incredibly cute, squee-inducing photograph Mrs. Yasuo felt compelled to share.

Baby Miroku. In pink!

And while Miroku swore revenge, Kagome explained to his parents that, yes, the school newspaper would be printing a retraction (which seemed to disappoint Mr. Yasuo greatly), and that, no, Sengoku Jidai wasn't _too_ dangerous, so, nah, they didn't have to worry about her.

And then, suddenly—as Thursday slowly began blending into Friday—Kagome couldn't help but unconsciously draw certain parallels.

"What happened to the 'Opposites attract' rule?" she asked Miroku later, as they ascended the shrine's many steps.

"Hmm?"

"Your parents," she began sleepily, "they're both archaeologists. I remember—I remember you telling me once that your father—um, not this one—"

"It's okay," grinned Miroku, just as sleepily. "Go on."

"Well, it's just, he was a monk. And—and you said your mother was a priestess," she said, her words coming out in an apologetic rush. "So—not opposites."

Miroku was laughing, and Kagome decided she really liked the sound. "Exceptions to the rule, Kagome."

"Mh hmm," she agreed, fantasizing about her nice, soft bed. And—wait, what did he just say?

"—fieldtrip tomorrow."

Kagome coughed, her cheeks burning.

"I've been meaning to ask," she smiled, as they reached the top. "Is it a coincidence this fieldtrip you organized happens to fall on the same day as our geometry exam?"

Miroku smirked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Geometry exam? You don't say."

Kagome grinned, wondering why she had a strong, irresistible urge to tackle Miroku. Instead, as she was a proper, _good_ girl, Kagome forced herself to walk away. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of turning around halfway through.

"You realize, of course, there's no way you'll be reelected next year, right?" she asked cheerfully.

Miroku rubbed the back of his neck. "Probably won't be here anyway."

Kagome stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"We move around a lot," he shrugged apathetically. "Comes with the territory."

Kagome bit her lip. There was no way in hell he was leaving. She wouldn't let him. "Miroku-sama?"

"Mh hmm?"

"If you had the jewel, what would you wish for?"

Miroku crossed the short distance between them. "Nothing," he said and didn't seem to be lying. "I have almost everything I want."

Kagome perked up. "Almost?"

Miroku gave her an odd, sideways glance. "Good night, Kagome-sama."

It was much later, when Kagome's head was already buried in her soft pillow, that she realized a very important thing.

If history repeated itself, as experience told her it should—

Miroku would find his own exception to the rule. Soon.

And for some odd reason—which she would've easily identified as denial had she not been half-asleep—this new discovery infuriated her.

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Morning dawned way too early.

Kagome was rushing through the shrine, screeching at Souta and Buyo, and frantically looking for her clothes and books and snacks. Grandpa had been wise enough to remove himself from the premises until Kagome was relatively packed (and sane), but her friends hadn't had quite as much experience dealing with a disorganized Kagome.

"Kagome-chan!" wailed Yuka as Kagome ran past, hopping about in one sock and rummaging around in the dryer for a skirt. "We have an hour."

"Kagome-chan!" wailed Erri as Kagome slid past, stuffing juice boxes into her deformed backpack. "You're going to break something."

"Kagome-chan!" wailed Ayumi as Kagome panted, leaning against the doorway. "Don't forget your geometry books."

"Kagome," said Miroku as Kagome shimmied out of her pajamas and into a skirt and—aaaah! Miroku!

"Turn around!" she shrieked, glomping him with a pair of wooly pants.

Miroku put up his hands defensively and—and—and what was he leering at?

"There's something on your skirt," he drawled, reaching out a steady hand.

Kagome looked down, and to her horror—

OH, FOR HEAVEN'S—

A pair of panties was clinging to her skirt. They must have stuck to the skirt in the dryer and—

"Give those back!"

Miroku seemed to be considering it. "No. I think I'll keep them. Revenge for rifling through my baby pictures."

Kagome eyed her panties fancifully. "Stupid static cling. And electricity. And physics."

Miroku wasn't listening. He kept circling her curiously, his head tilted. "Does that mean you're not wearing any right now?"

Kagome shoved him out into the hallway, and locked her door with a loud, frustrated scream.

And then she leaned against the wall, feeling miserable.

What was he _doing_ to her?

Instead of being upset with him for his lechery, she just wanted to—wanted to—

What?

Deciding she really didn't like analyzing herself, Kagome dressed hurriedly, checking for any other fashion accidents, then joined her friends in the kitchen.

"What are you doing here anyway?" muttered Kagome, watching Miroku ruffle Souta's hair.

"As class president, it's my job to gather the herd," replied Miroku. "And also, we were out of orange juice, so I had some of yours."

Kagome bit her lip to keep from grinning.

"And after you're done gathering the herd, don't forget to check out the game shop next to the museum," chirped Souta happily.

"Are you calling us cows?" twitched Ayumi.

Souta's eyes widened. "Nee-chan, won't you—won't you be late?" he asked, nudging Kagome.

"Nice save," said Miroku, ushering Yuka and Erri outside.

"Girls are scary," nodded Souta. "_Evil_ _Dead_ _XI_, on the other hand, isn't."

"Subtle hint decoded," smiled Kagome, dragging her backpack across the threshold.

By the time the class was completely assembled and on its way to the museum, Kagome had barely spent _two_ _minutes_ with Miroku.

Because, apparently, class presidents had to... work. And stuff.

Bah.

So, Kagome spent most of the ride feeling disappointed, listening about Yuka's new neighbor and flowers and soundtracks and—

—she was ridiculously happy to finally enter the museum.

Mr. Yoshimatsu, the History teacher—who'd spent most of the trip fighting motion sickness—attempted to split them up into groups of four, but promptly gave up as most students scurried off in search of breakable antiques.

It was only after she'd spent twenty minutes with a very bored Yuka, staring at an ancient Chinese scroll, that Miroku finally decided to show up.

"Okay, you take over now," Yuka told him frenetically, scrambling to find the exit.

Kagome opened her mouth to ask Miroku whether he'd seen that game shop Souta was babbling about, but—

"I have good news and bad news," interrupted Miroku sheepishly.

Kagome winced, a million catastrophic incidents running through her head. "Bad news first."

"My parents are here."

Well. That didn't sound too bad—

"—and they want to show us off."

"NO."

Of course, propriety demanded she put in an appearance, so Kagome shuffled into the closed-exhibit section, wishing she'd connected the dots earlier, 'cause... ow.

Parents, archaeologists. Fieldtrip, museum. Class president, easy access.

"Kagome-kun!" greeted Mr. Yasuo boisterously, dangling from a scaffold.

"Children!" echoed Mrs. Yasuo, adjusting a dusty scroll.

And thus began an excruciating thirty minutes of pseudo-traditional introductions to their coworkers ("Awww! They're so cute together!") and people whose names Kagome had no possible way of remembering. Eventually, though, when the museum curators and various assorted workers dispersed (leaving Kagome with pink, pinched cheeks), Miroku pulled her aside.

"And what's the good news?" she growled, rubbing her abused cheek.

"The good news is I still have these," said Miroku wickedly, patting his pocket.

Kagome tried not to smack him. _Poor panties_. "Miroku—"

"And," he shushed her, "I wanted to show you this."

_This_ turned out to be a wooden katana, shielded protectively by a thick glass case.

"Wh—why didn't I sense it?" gasped Kagome. "It has a shard."

"So, I was right." Miroku frowned thoughtfully. "But how is that possible? If there are still shards floating around in the 20th century—"

"—I wouldn't be surprised," she finished his sentence.

"What?"

"Noh Mask."

Off Miroku's blank expression, Kagome quickly filled him in. Once she finished, Miroku rubbed his eyebrow.

"Are you sure it's a real shard?" he asked, stunned.

Kagome concentrated. She couldn't feel it, couldn't recognize its figurative signature, but it _was_ familiar and powerful and—

"Naraku!" she gasped, covering her mouth. "Do you remember when Kouga-kun's tribe was—"

Miroku's features darkened completely. "Yes."

"Well, um... that's what that is. I think."

Miroku knelt, observing the glass case angrily. "This thing," he spat, pointing at the object, "isn't even a hundred years old."

Kagome couldn't feel her legs. Did that—did that mean Naraku was still—

"What are you doing!" she whispered urgently as Miroku kicked the glass.

"Opening it," he said calmly. "We have to destroy it."

Kagome opened her mouth to protest, then swiftly closed it. He was right. "You're just lucky no alarms went off," she grumbled, kneeling next to him.

Miroku smirked. "This isn't part of the exhibit yet."

The glass cracked, releasing a hiss of woody freesia, rich and sweet and—

Were inanimate objects _supposed_ to move?

"We should probably dig the shard out. _Now_."

Miroku seemed to agree. He reached for the handle, but—

Wow. _Fast_.

And as they watched the katana swirl around them ominously, Kagome realized—realized that if this thing metamorphosed into a demon... they were... screwed. Because—_she_ was generally useless anyway, but Miroku—without his kazaana—

"Kagome!" he shouted, watching the misty trail the object was leaving behind. "Do you see a toolbox under that ladder in the corner?"

Kagome quickly spun around, searching. A low, foreboding rumble seemed to be growing louder, originating from the shard, so she dove under the ladder and pried the toolbox away from its safe little corner. As she hurried back to Miroku, the rumbling wasn't quite as incoherent anymore.

"Who dares inter—" said the... well, hilt? "What are you_ doing_?"

Miroku looked up innocently from where he was rummaging through the toolbox. "Trying to preserve a generally decent artifact. Do you mind?"

The katana paused in midair.

"With a _screwdriver_?" whispered Kagome worriedly.

The katana swished through the chamber, barely missing her head.

"On second thought, use this one," frowned Kagome, handing Miroku the biggest gadget she could find. Miroku grinned at her, pointing above their heads.

"Be careful," he nodded. "And try to knock it to the ground."

The katana surged toward Miroku, who ducked in time. He swatted at the thing, watching bewilderedly as it dropped to the floor.

Kagome joined him, looking at the twitching object. "Should we... step on it?"

"I think so."

But before they could even move a millimeter, the katana snapped up and lurched forward. "Mmm! Two for one sale!" it said. With a weak swish, it pushed off the dusty ground, and charged at both Miroku and Kagome, "I just can't resist a bargain!"

"I hate impulsive shoppers," ducked Kagome, then cringed, throwing Miroku an apologetic glance. "That was bad, wasn't it?" she asked. "I'm sorry. Oneliners are... contagious."

Miroku snorted, thwaping the katana with the entire tool box. The thing collapsed instantly.

Okay. So. _Maybe_ _not_ _useless_...

Yay, teamwork!

"See if you can touch it, Kagome."

Kagome knelt cautiously, poking the struggling object. "It seems to be... low on power or something. Should we ask it about—"

But Miroku was already crushing the hilt with an irate scowl.

"—Naraku," she finished. The katana stopped struggling. The shard crumbled to dust. And Miroku...

"Miroku, why did you—"

He averted his eyes. "Yoshimatsu-sensei must be looking for us by now. Fieldtrip ended twenty minutes ago."

Kagome let it go. Reluctantly.

"Do you think he's still—"

"KAGOME!" said Miroku angrily. "Just go. I'll clean up here."

Kagome winced.

Fine! If he wanted to act like a jerk—

She picked up her fallen backpack and managed to get lost a few times in the maze that was the renaissance section before reuniting with the rest of her class. It was later, when she was already seated next to Yuka, resting moodily against her shoulder, that she spotted Miroku again.

He was standing there, in the narrow aisle, watching her.

Every muscle in Kagome's body snapped to attention.

"Yuka-san," said Miroku, pointing at the boy standing rigidly next to him. "Do you mind if we switch places?"

Yuka blinked, gaping as Miroku skillfully extracted her from her seat and thrust her at the boy she was apparently supposed to go sit with.

Kagome frowned angrily. _Hff_! If he thought she'd be happy to see him after he'd treated her like, well... _Inuyasha_—and—and after what he'd just done to Yuka-chan—

"I'm taking a break from my duties," he explained casually, plopping down next to Kagome.

The bus rumbled to life.

Kagome crossed her arms.

Miroku glanced at her.

Kagome pouted.

The bus ran over a pothole.

Miroku brooded. "You know, I heard you were cheating on me with Yoshimatsu-sensei."

Despite all her firm resolutions, Kagome smiled. "Old, sensei, and ew."

His features softened, and then, to Kagome surprise, he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her.

Instinctively, she nestled against him. "I'm still mad."

"I know."

Her fingers curled, bunching up his shirt. "I miss the ponytail," she sighed sleepily.

Miroku grinned, nudging her lightly. "Me, too."

"Stupid school regulations," she grumbled, yawning.

"Mh hmm," he agreed, adjusting her hold on his uniform.

Kagome was vaguely aware of hushed whispers and an occasional discreet cough, but couldn't care less. She was sleepy and warm and Miroku—contrary to her previous assumptions—made for an incredibly comfortable pillow. Soft and firm at the same time, and so, so, _so_—

"You're going to have to tell me sooner or later, you know," she mumbled into the crook of his shoulder.

"Later," was the last thing she heard before she drifted off.

By the time they'd reached the school, Kagome was, once again, wide awake and nibbling on candy. Yuka seemed to be in a forgiving mood, and suddenly, Kagome couldn't remember why she'd ever been upset.

Unfortunately, Miroku had to remain behind, directing the younger students (and, evidently, quite a number of professors), so she dragged herself away, fussing over the fact that he couldn't walk her home.

Alas, that was probably a good thing. Because—

Because the closer she came to the shrine, the more recognizable the hunched, grumpy silhouette waiting for her became.

"Inuyasha!" she shouted, running toward him.

She was genuinely happy to see him. For the first time in a long time, she was positively bursting with energy at the mere sight of him. She wanted—so, _so_ badly—to tell him all about her day, all about her friends, all about Miroku—

"Finally!" growled Inuyasha. "Where did you go? The damn Northern Lands?"

Kagome refused to dignify his crabbiness with an answer. "How are you, Inuyasha?" she asked blithely.

Inuyasha blinked. "What?"

"How _are_ you?" she repeated cheerfully. "How was your _day_?"

Inuyasha seemed ready to bolt. "I'm good. But you're drunk."

Kagome giggled. "Let me grab a few things, and we'll go."

Inuyasha followed her inside warily. Kagome giddily tugged at his haori. Inuyasha observed her with a suspicious glower.

"Everyone's gone insane," he grumbled.

"Who's everyone?" asked Kagome pleasantly, stuffing a few unread books into her backpack and writing a note for Souta (which was in turn a note for Miroku), wherein she apologized for not getting him the game.

"You," mumbled Inuyasha. "The runt. And the monk."

Kagome closed her backpack and peered at Inuyasha. "What's wrong with Miroku?"

Inuyasha snorted. "What _isn't_?"

Kagome grinned as she followed him out to the well. "Specifically?"

Inuyasha frowned skeptically. "He's acting weird."

"In what way?" asked Kagome cautiously.

"In your way."

Kagome blinked. "What?"

Inuyasha scoffed humorlessly, as though the situation both amused and disgusted him. "Like he's trying to take you away from me or something."

Something—a small, multiplying spark of _something_—within Kagome sank in, at last.

And for one glorious second, the little girl inside her—the one that really loved playing with Inuyasha's puppy ears—rejoiced. Because Inuyasha had said it. After months of conflicting emotions; of sweet dreams and waking nightmares, he'd _said_ it.

'Take you away_ from me_.'

She wouldn't be sure later what made her reevaluate the words, but as she stood there, smiling at a very confused Inuyasha, a new emotion tightened her chest.

'He's trying to take you away from me.'

Kagome's stomach flipped as she realized why.

Miroku.

Trying to take her away from Inuyasha.

And Inuyasha—

Inuyasha was observing her worriedly. "What the hell is wrong with you now?" he asked, tapping his claws against the well's brim with an impatient scowl.

'_Trying_ _to_ _take_ _you_.'

A surprised, flustered laugh rolled off her lips as she said, in a soft, overwhelmed voice, "Nothing."

_But I think_—

_I_ _think_ _hell_ _just_ _froze_ _over_.

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**Edited to add a small note regarding this chapter.  
**

From Son:

__

"First of all, I must ask...why on EARTH do Miroku's parents call Kagome "Kagome-KUN"? You DO realize that they're basically calling her a cute/hot BOY, right? The proper term for a GIRL, such as Kagome, would be chan (which means cute/hot GIRL). I KNOW you're aware of this because I've seen you use "chan" before. I've also seen you use "kun" before. Just wondering, really, if there's any reason that his parents think that Kagome's a boy and, therefore, their son is gay."

Technically—using the -kun honorific denotes a relationship between boys that grew up together; boss to employee; female students to male students; older students to younger students; and is sometimes used while addressing female students in a friendly manner.

If you've noticed, only Mr. Yasuo calls Kagome "Kagome-kun," and he does so partly because I'm channeling _Fruits_ _Basket_. But I like your theory. Hot gay Miroku. Mmm!


	9. Detour

**Author's** **Notes**: I wanted them to have another happy chapter, but the plot was like, "Sandra. I know where you live."

And it _does_.

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**Chapter** **Seven****: _Detour_**

_As I was going up the stair_

_I met a man who wasn't there_

_He wasn't there again today_

_I_ _wish_, _I_ _wish_ _he'd_ _stay_ _away_.

—Hughes Mearns, _The Psychoed_

.

.

.

He dreamt, therefore, he existed.

He had enemies, therefore, he had a purpose. He had needs, therefore, he was alive.

But as Miroku—who was currently nursing a serious headache—opened his eyes, he certainly didn't feel alive.

Every bone in his body hurt. His muscles were taut with tension, stretched to breaking. His temples were throbbing, his chest felt oddly heavy, his back was just begging for a geisha's touch, and—

And the _dreams_.

Miroku could vaguely remember certain snippets—images and sounds, none remotely appropriate or innocent—all of which seemed to feature one unvarying constant.

Kagome.

Kagome, climbing into his lap. Kagome, addicted to his touch.

Effortlessly, Miroku could recall watching her as she closed her eyes and came through and buried her head in his shoulder. Could remember his own voice—that one soft, desperate groan, half lost and muffled by her slippery skin, knowing she wanted him, _liked it_, liked it when he touched her, liked curling up under him and crying, crying, crying his name over and over and over.

He could remember being on the brink, brimming, teeming, ready to fall in and spill over from leaning in and out.

And then, of course, _no_.

No.

The dreams were... normal, he told himself. A healthy man, traveling with women—why, it was practically habitual. He could easily have replaced her face, if he so wished. Which... he did. So, he would. He would replace her face.

Tomorrow.

Because it was _wrong_.

He respected her. He didn't want to _use_ her. Didn't want to mend his troubled mind with senseless (though, admittedly, extremely enjoyable) physicality. Not with a nice, hot, wet—

Not that he'd get a chance to, anyway. She was in love with Inuyasha. And that was... that was how it was supposed to be. Destiny, fate, Buddha's will, _whatever_. So, he wouldn't. Next time, he wouldn't enjoy his little cerebral escapades so much. He _wouldn't_.

Besides, there were other things Miroku needed to worry about.

The weather (they'd been traveling through a snowfield in search of a shard), food, and, well... his impending death.

He just... couldn't think about it. He'd spent years searching for an answer, knowing all the while his efforts were most likely quite useless. But he hadn't given up. Because he was _good_ at fighting. And—and he was...

Tired.

He'd had more than the recommended amount of sleep—comfortable, soft mat and sunny, bluebird mornings—but he felt far from awake. Rested, yes. Relaxed, maybe. Awake? No. It seemed like there were layers of dust on top of an old, wooden trunk that was his mind, its surface beyond dulled; routine and ruts and stairwells with no end in sight.

And it was so frustrating, this not waking up.

He needed something, he knew.

That revitalizing spark of _something_ that he was lacking. It was right in front of him, dangling before his face, but he just couldn't put his finger on it and—

"Miroku-sama," came a cheerful voice, "you're going to freeze to death. And then, five hundred years from now, someone's going to excavate you and wonder what kind of a mental problem forced you to sit barefoot in thesnow."

Miroku jumped up from where he'd been meditating, surrounded by a thin blanket of snow. "Kagome-sama," he burst out, pleasantly surprised. "When did you return?"

Kagome yawned. "Inuyasha got me a few hours ago. I guess we're looking for a shard?"

"As usual," nodded Miroku, tilting his head happily. Kagome was standing there, wearing her short little kimono and shivering. "I suppose I won't be alone when they find me."

Kagome wrapped her arms around herself, her lips turning blue. "Well, it's not my fault. No one told me we were going to _Antarctica_," she pouted. "And... how are you? Are your wounds better? Did Inuyasha bother you too much? Did Kaede make you take those antibiotics I left with her? Did you—"

Suddenly oddly gratified, Miroku rose. "Excellent. Yes. No. Yes. And please, Kagome-sama, let us return before Inuyasha accuses me of trying to put you in harm's way. Again."

Kagome paused. "Has he been doing stuff like that a lot lately?"

Miroku frowned, dusting snowflakes off his sleeve. "Inuyasha has been acting somewhat peculiar, yes."

For instance, he'd been watching Miroku like a hawk. And sniffing Miroku's robes, then narrowing his eyes suspiciously, muttering, 'Same scent—' and being exceptionally grouchy and—

"I'm sorry," said Kagome sheepishly, then smiled. "Sango-chan is waiting for us at the cabin... er... hut... er... I don't know what to call it. It has four walls, but that's about it."

Miroku grinned, nodding. "This area isn't exactly inhabitable. We're lucky to have found shelter, regardless of its... less than attractive interior."

Kagome scrunched up her nose. "Too bad there're no nice inns with ominous clouds over them."

A heavy weight seemed to slide off of Miroku's shoulders. "And where's Inuyasha?"

"Oh, he dragged Shippou off to look for food," said Kagome happily, pausing near a snow-covered tree trunk and poking at it. "Erm, I mean, Shippouvolunteered... or something."

Miroku watched her dig her fingers into the snow, his robes tightening. "Ah," he said awkwardly.

Her short little skirt. That was it. Distracting. Nothing more to it. He'd react like this to anyone. _Anyone_.

"Sheesh," she mumbled, "how do people survive here? Without getting cabin fever and going on killing sprees, I mean."

_They_ _don't_, he wanted to say, but the moment he opened his mouth, Kagome bent down to pick up more snow.

_You're killing me_.

"There's a hot spring," he heard himself say.

"What?" asked Kagome, patting the snow into a ball with a look of innocent concentration.

Miroku tried to control himself. "Onsen. Straight down that path over there and... Kagome-sama, you must be extremely uncomfortable."

"Huh?"

"I imagine your time has devised its own way of combating cold climates—"

"Well, yeah—"

"—so, in lieu of advanced conveniences, I suggest we take a nice, hot bath."

Kagome froze, dropping her snowball. "Together?"

"Naturally," said Miroku virtuously. "Someone must be with you in case the demon...nh..." he trailed off. Because—

"Eh," said Kagome, starting down the path, "I did have a pretty long day, what with the museum and... everything, and I suppose I—okay!"

And she was off, bouncing ahead of him. Miroku blinked, looked around for signs of, well... a hallucination, then—upon finding none—followed after Kagome.

"What's the catch?" he asked warily as he caught up with her. The hot spring bubbled before them.

"No catch," said Kagome softly. "I trust you. And—ah! _Warm_."

And so, pleased and puzzled, Miroku joined her, dipping his feet into the hot water. They chatted aimlessly for a long time, discussing various, insignificant events that had happened in her absence, and Miroku found himself quite... content. They hadn't taken their clothes off, but...

Kagome was sitting beside him in silence as he listened to the steady plunk of melting ice. His bare feet were scratching against the wet, cooling rocks; small, foamy waves were dancing around their ankles, and—

"Do you think Sango-chan would hate it if you became interested in, say, Koharu?"

Miroku blinked. "Koharu?"

Kagome jumped. "Ah... um, yeah. I don't know why I actually said that out loud. Did I say it out loud?"

Miroku's features softened. "I wouldn't have heard you otherwise." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then asked, "Was that a rhetorical question?"

She flushed. "It was. Until you made it... non-rhetorical."

He wondered if Inuyasha would mind if he took Kagome, right here, right now. "Why?"

Kagome squirmed.

Miroku grinned at her with his usual crooked charisma. "Why, Kagome-sama?"

She wiggled her little toes one last time, and—

_Plop_.

Miroku wiped the snow off his face.

"Are you trying to subtly change the topic?" he asked, amused.

_Must_._ Not_._ Pounce_.

"No," grinned Kagome, preparing another snowball. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

So, instead of replying, Miroku retaliated. Soon, they'd succeeded in getting themselves twisted in a tangle of limbs. Miroku hadn't stopped to think how childish and immature he was acting (and feeling). Hadn't stopped to notice his headache was gone. Hadn't stopped to realize how alive he felt. All that mattered was that Kagome's body was warm and his hands weren't and—

"Is it just me, or are they touching a lot lately?" asked a familiar voice.

"Shut the fuck up, runt!" came another familiar voice.

Miroku froze; one hand stuffing snow down Kagome's back, the other gripping her thigh.

"Eeh!" squealed Kagome, pushing Miroku off. "Inuyasha! Shippou-chan! This—isn't what it looks like!"

"It looks like fun," sniffled Shippou, glaring at Inuyasha. "_I _froze my tail off trying to catch fish with _him_."

_Him_—Inuyasha—was shaking with rage.

Miroku waited a moment for a coherent response. When none came, he raised an eyebrow and helped Kagome up, deciding to assist in ridding her of snow, as well.

"STOP-TOUCHING-HER-MONK!" snarled Inuyasha loudly.

Miroku glanced around, wondering whether the hanyou had started an avalanche somewhere.

"Inuyasha, it's okay—" began Kagome. "No! I mean, _no_. It's not okay," she turned to Miroku, scowling, though her cheeks appeared peculiarly bright. "Just—ugh—sit!"

Inuyasha slammed into the snow, leaving a rather interesting imprint.

"Oh, not _you_!" shrieked Kagome in distress, rushing to Inuyasha's side. Miroku frowned.

Inuyasha muttered a curse.

Kagome whimpered sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I forgot. Your wounds. I'm sorry, Inuyasha."

Something very petty, very uncharacteristically unforgiving found its way from Miroku's mind to his lips. "I wouldn't worry so much, Kagome-sama," he said calmly, as Shippou scurried up his shoulder. "Inuyasha's been well enough to travel great distances in search of... _shards_ while you were gone. Weren't you, Inuyasha?"

Inuyasha was silent for the entirety of the short journey back.

Once reunited with Sango and Kirara, Kagome and Shippou helped out with dinner preparations. Soon, Miroku was back to his old self, feeling better than he had in days. The fish was delicious, the company more so (well, with the exception of a growling dog and a purring kitsune), and—

"Should we build a fire or something?" asked Kagome when the hour grew late. "Because... freezing."

"We don't have sufficient ventilation here," answered Sango, shivering. "A fire would suffocate us."

"So... how are we going to, well... not die?"

The group grew silent.

"Inuyasha," said Sango, rubbing her temples exasperatedly. "Remember when I asked how cold it got here, and you said 'Not colder than the mountains in the Northern Lands, keh'?"

Inuyasha's ears drooped defensively. "It's not MY fault you're all human!"

Shippou huffed indignantly. "I'm cold, too, you know."

Kagome giggled, scooping the little kitsune into her arms. "Don't worry, Shippou-chan," she cooed. "We have enough blankets and covers and hey, you can sleep with me."

Inuyasha and Miroku twitched simultaneously.

"He can sleep _outside_," said Inuyasha, sticking out his chin.

Kagome ignored him. "Sango-chan...?"

Sango pondered for a moment. "You and Shippou-chan can sleep here and... here. Kirara and I can sleep in the middle."

"Perhaps _I_ should sleep in the middle," interrupted Miroku ingeniously. "After all, a man's body gives off more heat than a woman's and—"

"You in a hurry to die?" asked Inuyasha, his ears twitching.

Miroku puffed out his chest, offended. "Any better suggestions?"

Inuyasha's face was perfectly blank.

Miroku cheered up. "Then it's decided! I shall—"

"—die a slow, painful death if you come near us," grumbled Sango, giving her boomerang a surreptitious glance. "Shippou-chan, Kagome-chan, and I will share. Surely, that should provide sufficient warmth. You and Inuyasha—"

"No fucking way!" yelped Inuyasha, shaking with rage. "I'm not sleeping with _him_!"

Kagome and Shippou giggled. Sango coughed, hiding a grin. Miroku, who'd scampered off into his own little fantasy during Sango's 'Kagome-chan and I will share,' tuned back in.

"I'll behave," he defended obliviously.

Inuyasha's eyes bugged out. "I don't CARE if you behave or not! I'm sleeping ALONE! On the other side! WITHOUT you!"

Confused and slightly disturbed by Inuyasha's insinuation, Miroku blinked, watching the hanyou stalk off into his corner with a disgusted grimace.

"What'd I miss?" asked Miroku warily.

"Wow, Miroku," said Shippou, awed, "you really need to find a mate. I wonder if your attention span would improve if—"

"Shippou-chan!" scolded a blushing Sango. "Sleep. Now."

Shippou giggled and burrowed between Sango and Kagome, completely unaware of the twin glares of intense dislike Inuyasha and Miroku seemed intent on sending his way.

"Well, that's nice," sighed Miroku, "but we still haven't decided where a respectable houshi like myself should rest."

"It's not that cold," said Sango, petting Kirara and curling up next to Shippou. "I'm sure you'll survive, Houshi-sama."

Miroku flinched as her words cut through him, his lips thinning.

_Survive_.

Suddenly annoyed with everything and every_one_, Miroku stared at the floor, and then, with a little push from the overly judgmental voice hidden somewhere deep inside that part of him that refused to grow up, he opened his mouth to assure them (himself) that he _would_ indeed survive—_without_ _help_—

"Will you really?" asked Kagome softly.

Miroku started. "What?"

Kagome flushed. "Will you behave?" Cheeks pink, she indicated at the fluffy quilts covering the majority of their group. Oh. _Oh_.

OH.

"Of course!" he said, grinning wildly.

"What? NO!" shrieked Sango. "Kagome-chan, I will NOT—"

Miroku interrupted indignantly. "I don't understand the reasoning behind your reservations. I've been a perfect gentleman for weeks."

"Well, technically," said Kagome thoughtfully, putting a finger to her chin, "you've been... you know... confined to Kaede-baachan's hut..."

"That—that's beside the point," he grumbled, averting his gaze to one of the walls. _Go in for the kill_. "I thought you trusted me, Kagome-sama."

The gale outside wept loudly.

Floorboards creaked.

The roof shook.

And gingerly, Miroku turned his head.

Sango was yawning as though she hadn't heard him; Shippou had been distracted by what looked like an exhausted moth; and Kagome—

Kagome was looking at him as though she was on the verge of making a monumental decision. Finally, she flushed and looked away, patting the spot next to her with a horrified blush.

Miroku's eyebrows shot up.

What was she—wait. _Stop wasting time, idiot_!

Quickly, before Kagome could change her mind, Miroku slid in next to her (at a respectable distance, of course), situating himself between the wall and her.

"Kagome-chan—!" shouted Sango, as Inuyasha immediately jumped up, snarling.

"He—he said he'd behave," said Kagome defensively, her cheeks burning.

"And you've known him for _how_ long?" asked Shippou.

Inuyasha pointed a shaky claw, opening his mouth to protest.

"Inuyasha," interrupted Miroku innocently, making himself extra comfortable against the wall (and, obviously, Kagome). "You are welcome to join us (_except, please don't_)."

Inuyasha was incoherent with rage. "You—if—KEH—kill—"

"It's okay, Inuyasha," assured Kagome, "I have very sharp nails."

Miroku backed off a little bit.

Eventually, the group settled back down; Inuyasha reluctantly went back to his corner, mumbling and growling to himself, and pointing at the Tetsusaiga every time Miroku happened to glance his way. Sango, even though she was separated from Miroku by Shippou, Kirara, _and_ Kagome, scooted further away, twitching every time Miroku so much as breathed.

Amused, Miroku resisted sleeping on his side. But the temptation. Was. Killing. Him.

Kagome was lying next to him, tense and suspicious and staring at the ceiling, cuddling her little gorilla, looking delicious and inviting and he couldn't take it anymore—

"Miroku-sama," whispered a soft voice, "are you cold?"

Miroku's hands froze midair. "...yes," he lied smoothly.

Kagome shifted on her side, facing him with a worried frown. "Need an extra blanket?"

"I don't think that will be necessary, Kagome-sama," he replied, hoping Inuyasha's hearing was obstructed by the howling wind outside. "If you'd just come a little closer..."

Kagome's cheeks were rosy, her eyes were narrowed inquisitively, and her hair was flying in every direction. Miroku grinned triumphantly. And then, to his disappointment, Kagome threw a blanket at him.

"Good night, Miroku-sama," she said huffily, fluffing her pillow.

Miroku cleared his throat, sighed, and reached for the knot in his robes.

"What are you _doing_?" hissed Kagome quietly.

A tiny grin spread over his lips. "Oh, I'm sorry," he began cheerfully. "Did _you_ want to disrobe me?"

A spider on the wall rolled its eyes.

Kagome closed her eyes, counted to ten, then exhaled. "You can't sleep naked."

"My robes aren't very comfortable to sleep in," reasoned Miroku. "Besides, we'll produce more heat unclothed."

Promptly, he had to duck.

"If I ever even _think_ about vouching for your character... sacrifice me to the wolves, please," she mumbled, her feet kicking his ankles.

"I'm certain Kouga might appreciate that," he said, then frowned.

_Kouga_.

He'd forgotten all about the wolf. The wolf and his annoying, 'Kagome is _MY_ woman!' spiel. And while he'd admired Kouga's straightforwardness several months before, Miroku found himself incredibly annoyed by the demon's... presumptuousness _now_.

"We haven't seen Kouga-kun in a while," said Kagome, scrunching up her nose. "I wonder if he's okay."

Miroku stiffened.

"I _can_ hear you, you know," grumbled Inuyasha, banging on the wall.

Saddened to find himself grateful for Inuyasha's pettiness, Miroku pulled Kagome's blanket up to his chin, thinking.

Why did he keep forgetting?

Inuyasha, Kouga, Naraku, _someone back home_. The list of men who wanted something from her was growing longer. And Miroku refused to be added to that stupid list.

He would not use her. He would not—

Kagome yawned.

Miroku found it excessively endearing.

"Good night, Miroku-sama," she whispered sleepily.

Miroku nodded absentmindedly, finding himself genuinely cold now. Consequently, he spent the next few minutes tossing and turning and squirming uncomfortably. Finally, he accidentally slipped into a remarkably comfortable position.

"Miro-kun," mumbled Kagome, half-asleep. "Your toes are cold."

A tiny, sleepy grin tugged his lips upwards. "Fix it."

"Okay," replied Kagome, and instinctively snuggled into his chest.

Miroku slept well.

.

.

.

.

.

Morning dawned quietly.

The wind outside appeared to have calmed during the night. The biting cold seemed practically nonexistent. And—

Inuyasha was hovering over Miroku, who was blinking his eyes open with a drowsy yawn. Inuyasha's face was half-hidden by shadows, and Miroku didn't particularly like the side he _could_ see.

"Didn't we have this conversation before?" asked Inuyasha, his left eyebrow twitching with annoyance.

Miroku stretched, disappointed to find everyone else gone. "That was a long time ago, Inuyasha."

Inuyasha blinked, taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

"Time is very relative, I've learned," replied Miroku, retying his robes and sitting up with a serious expression.

Inuyasha frowned, unable to disagree. "Stop babbling. Kagome felt the shard last night."

For a short, dangerous moment, Miroku considered responding with the first thing that came to his mind (a very tactless innuendo), but decided he valued his life more. So, instead, he finished dressing, and rejoined the remainder of the group.

Surprisingly, getting the shard wasn't a challenge.

Locating it during a snowstorm, in adverse weather, proved to be trickier. But Kagome's eyes had widened eventually and she'd pointed toward an ice-capped cave, so Inuyasha had disposed of the demon, boasting of easy kills and sulking when Sango's boomerang split the revived demon in half.

It was much later, when they were well on their way back to Kaede's, that Kagome brought up an... unusual question.

"That's almost all of the shards," she said slowly, almost apologetically. "Nearly done."

Inuyasha shrugged noncommittally, rubbing the back of his neck. "Feh."

Miroku could have sworn Kagome had glanced at him before continuing. "So... what happens next?"

"We get back, have some food, and sleep," replied Inuyasha stiffly.

The group continued on in silence.

"But," mumbled Kagome as Shippou tugged on her sleeve. "What will happen after?"

"After what, Kagome-chan?" asked Sango curiously.

"After we complete the jewel," said Kagome, her words coming out in a worried rush.

The group froze in its tracks.

Kagome fidgeted with her jewel shards. "I mean, we never talk about what we're going to do _after_."

The group grew silent.

Kagome shrank into herself, but continued in a voice befitting someone much, much stronger, "I know it's not the easiest conversation to have, but we have to—we have to decide if—"

"There's nothing to decide," said Inuyasha, crossing his arms. "We get the jewel, kill Naraku, the end."

Kagome's brows drew together, and underneath those thick lashes, she looked entirely too young and too vulnerable to be in love with a seventy year old half-demon. "But what are we going to _do_ with the jewel?"

"We—?"

"Inuyasha," said Kagome, tightening her hold on Shippou, "_all_ of us are here, and—and—" she winced, "—what would you do as a full demon? I know it _used_ to be very important to you, but—but there are so many things we can wish for—lives to save, _people to bring back_, things to fix—"

Inuyasha started, his eyes widening.

Sango frowned. "Kagome-chan," she said. "What will _you_ do after?"

Miroku glanced up.

"I'm... going to go back home."

Miroku froze.

"Kagome!" cried Shippou.

Inuyasha twitched, and Miroku almost wished the hanyou would say something to change her mind. Of course, even Inuyasha knew he had no say in Kagome's life. Not after the jewel was completed.

For the briefest of moments, Miroku found himself wishing the damn thing would shatter into a million pieces again.

"Kagome-sama," he said, schooling his features. "Perhaps the reason behind our unwillingness to discuss the future is due to the fact that the outcome of our conflict with Naraku is extremely uncertain."

Kagome turned to look at him with the oddest expression. "I _know_ that," she said desperately. "That's why we _have_ to talk about it. How are we going to defeat him? What will happen to Shippou if I can't stay with him? Will Inuyasha remember us once he becomes a demon? What if he doesn't? What if he hurts someone? What if Sango's job becomes to exterminate _Inuyasha_? How long will Kikyou live without our help? How much does she hate collecting souls? What—what if your kazaana breaks before we defeat Naraku? What if you _die_? What if—"

"Shut up!" yelled Inuyasha, jumping to his feet and baring his teeth. "Stop it. Stop talking about it like it's _complicated_."

Sango glowered at him. "What are you talking about, Inuyasha? It _is_ complicated. _You_ made it complicated. You and your indecisiveness."

Inuyasha snapped. "Me? What was I _supposed_ to do? LET you kill your brother? Would that have made it less complicated?"

Kagome's eyes widened as she watched in horror. "No, guys—"

Sango stiffened. "That—_he_ has nothing do to with the _source_ of all our trouble. If it hadn't been for you and Kikyou, Naraku would never have existed!" she said, eyes watering. "My village would still be standing! My father would still be alive! My—"

"No, please—"

Inuyasha seemed ready to burst. "You were the one who was WORKING for the bastard!"

"You were the one who let Kikyou have the shards!"

"You're—you're—"

"STOP IT!" screamed Kagome, standing up and clenching her fists. "We're doing exactly what Naraku wants us to do."

Inuyasha and Sango glanced at her, startled. An uncomfortable silence followed.

Sango was the first to speak. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, eyes downcast. "I didn't mean to—"

"Forget it," harrumphed Inuyasha, sniffling.

Sango flinched. "No, Inuyasha," she said firmly. "I am _not_ afraid to say it. We've all said and done some... less than brilliant things," here, she paused cautiously. "But we're traveling the same road and I _refuse_ to fall for Naraku's dirty tricks again." With a deathly serious expression, Sango continued. "And no matter what happens, I won't leave your side, Inuyasha."

Inuyasha's eyes widened in shock.

"None of us will," she added.

Kagome twisted her hands nervously. Shippou peeked behind her shoulder, carefully observing the hanyou. And finally, Inuyasha looked up, scowling, though his eyes were pleasantly narrowed.

"Was that a threat?" he asked.

Sango grinned, Kagome smiled, and Shippou jumped on Inuyasha's head, gnawing happily and waving at Miroku with a delighted, carefree smile. "We'll all be together forever, won't we, Miroku?"

Miroku faltered.

_Some of us won't have a choice_.

But he pasted a smile and said, in an optimistic, sanguine voice, "Of course."

.

.

.

.

.

Two days.

Two days of pleasant, companionable travel. Inuyasha had been in a particularly good mood after acquiring their latest shard; Sango had been fending Kagome off (Takeda's castle was in their direct path, and Kagome was... tireless); Shippou was just happy the tension that had been building up for months within the group seemed to finally evaporate, and—

And Miroku...

Miroku was apprehensive.

No sign of Naraku or Kagura, no news, no attempts to steal their shards... well, it just didn't feel right. A certain sort of cold cynicism was warring with Miroku's inner sense of trust—trust in Inuyasha, trust in karma, trust in his own abilities.

The only time all his private annoyances seemed to be allayed was when—

"—so, you're saying Mushin-sama was your mother's _uncle_?" asked Kagome, awed.

Miroku was stretching lazily, sprawled on his back and nodding at the clouds overhead. The meadow they'd been resting in was quite relaxing. "Unfortunately, yes."

Kagome giggled, lying on her stomach, plucking at the grass and swinging her legs. "You know, now that I think about it, it's a miracle you didn't grow up to be like your granduncle—the one with six wives—Hiro-sama?"

Miroku glanced at her.

How did she remember all that? And _why_?

"Not that having six wives would have been a bad thing," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Kagome brooded, playing with a dandelion. "It's not the _quantity_..."

Amused, Miroku cocked his head. "Really? You wouldn't like having six husbands, Kagome-sama?"

Kagome paled, horrified, then smiled brilliantly. "Oh, of course I would. One could cook, one could clean, two or three could go to work—"

Miroku grinned wickedly. "One could—"

"Finish that sentence and die," huffed Kagome, poking his cheek affectionately. Miroku resisted tackling her.

Kagome flushed, clearly caught off guard. She squirmed adorably, but didn't look away. Startled (and oddly aroused), Miroku watched the emotions play across her face—fear and embarrassment and something so new he had trouble recognizing it.

"What?" she mumbled sulkily.

Miroku swallowed. "Nothing. I was just thinking about what you said earlier," he lied.

Kagome drew in a soft breath, sitting up. "And...?"

"I think you're right. Kikyou could be the key to defeating Naraku."

Kagome perked up considerably. "Really?"

"But more importantly—" he began happily. "I'm hungry."

Kagome smiled. "Oh, no! We can only handle one crisis at a time," she said with mock concern. "Now what will we do?"

Despite his firm resolve to act a little less immature around her, Miroku smiled. "Feed me?"

Kagome swatted him bashfully. "What about—what about that... other thing?"

She was hovering over him, looking delicious, and a different kind of hunger rose within him. "I apologize, Kagome-sama. I forgot," he mumbled, watching her shiny lips. "What was the question?"

She wrinkled her nose, casting a grateful glance at him before changing the topic. "Where—where do you think she is?"

He closed his eyes, placing his hands behind his head. "I don't know. But..."

"...Inuyasha might," she finished.

Discreetly, Miroku observed her. She didn't seem to be hurting. At all. Huh.

"Why haven't you asked him, Kagome-sama?" he asked carefully.

"Because he'll never agree to my plan," said Kagome hesitantly.

"What made you think _I'd_ agree to your plan, Kagome-sama?"

"Well... will you?"

"Sadly, yes," he sighed, shaking his head.

Kagome squeed, hugging his arm.

Miroku recovered quickly, and though he really wanted to reciprocate, he beat a hasty retreat because—because he'd promised.

He'd promised he'd talk to Inuyasha.

So, slightly frustrated (and _itchy_), Miroku returned to camp, heading straight for Inuyasha's tree. Inuyasha, who'd been napping, hopped down once he spotted him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sniffing the air and tensing.

Miroku wrinkled his nose sheepishly. "Nothing, per se. I just wanted to talk to you."

Inuyasha groaned. "Look, if this is about that stupid poké thing again—"

"Pocky," corrected Miroku huffily.

"—you should know the _runt_ ate them."

Miroku grinned. "Unfortunately, I have more pressing matters to discuss."

Inuyasha twitched guiltily. "I don't need another lecture from you."

That hadn't been what Miroku had come to discuss, but...

"Inuyasha," he frowned, realizing the hanyou was going to pull him off topic regardless of his determination to finish this conversation quickly. "I have a hard enough time playing my own conscience. I can't play yours, too."

Inuyasha growled, but his ears were flat against his head. "No one asked you to, anyway."

Miroku glanced at him briefly. "There are things you should _know_," he said. "Because she's not Kikyou."

Inuyasha twitched, dropping into a crouch and folding his hands inside his red haori. "I know that."

"I don't think you do."

Inuyasha gritted his teeth. "And what do _you_ know?"

Miroku sat next to Inuyasha, poking the pebbles on the ground below. I know _her_, he wanted to say, but composed himself in time. "Where is she?" he asked instead.

Inuyasha remained silent. And now, because Inuyasha seemed intent on not growling out a warning (dangerous, uncharacteristic, frightening anomaly), Miroku interrupted his silence with a muttered "_Inuyasha_", which was considerably better than, "_Idiot_."

Inuyasha frowned. "I can't—"

"You don't have to go, Inuyasha," interrupted Miroku. "I'll go alone." _Well, not quite_.

"Devil's Tower," said Inuyasha, all moody and judicial.

Miroku blinked. "I'd say the name was appropriate, but—"

Inuyasha's eyes narrowed.

"Going now," said Miroku at once, chuckling. "Thank you."

Inuyasha grunted.

Miroku had almost reached the dusty path when Inuyasha called after him. "Miroku."

Miroku turned.

"You can't have Kagome, either."

With a rueful grin, Miroku waved a nonchalant hand.

"I know."

.

.

.

.

.

"So, where are we going?" asked Kagome, bouncing giddily.

Miroku pointed his staff west. "Forest near the Devil's Tower."

Kagome bit her lip. "Well... that sounds... I'm sorry. Too easy. I'll let it go."

Miroku raised an amused eyebrow, then suddenly grew serious. "Kagome-sama, are you certain about this? Not telling Inuyasha—"

"It's going to be fine! I have a good feeling about this," she said quickly, tugging at his sleeve.

"But what if we encounter a dangerous—"

"That's why I'm taking _you_ with me," she defended petulantly. With a slight frown, she looked up at him. "I have to talk to her, Miroku-sama."

Miroku's resolve—what little was left of it—dissolved. "Well, I've always wanted to meet Buddha anyway."

Kagome tittered, shaking her head. "Nothing can go wrong. I bet we'll be back before dinner."

And so, even though the air was thick with moisture and the sky seemed weighed down, darkening beneath a massive onslaught of ashen clouds, Miroku lead Kagome through a small field of stone, past tumultuous rapids and thickening woods.

Finally, after several hours of discussing the importance of life ("Ah, get that stupid spider OFF me, Miroku-sama! Squish it! Squish it _now_!"), and the beauty of nature ("Kagome-sama, don't point that thing at me! Bees are not friendly creatures!"), the two found themselves at a clearing, blinking at the scene before them.

"Miroku-sama... what are those?" asked Kagome, scooting closer.

Miroku held out his hand protectively. "Demons. But—"

"Hey! _Humans_!" said the first demon, tapping its companion on the shoulder.

The second demon roused, blinking. "Hey, you're right! So glad I spotted them."

"What? _I_ spotted them. _Me_!" shrieked the first demon, and flung itself at the other one.

Miroku and Kagome exchanged bemused glances.

"I think those are... supposed to be the forest guardians," said Miroku, clearing his throat.

Kagome tilted her head. "Should they be so insane?"

"No," replied Miroku, then shouted at the demons. "Oi!"

The demons stopped struggling, and looked up.

"Not to interrupt," began Miroku carefully, "but would it be possible for us to enter the forest? We're looking for someone—"

The two demons exchanged glances. The first one hopped off the other, approaching Miroku and Kagome. The second demon followed, sniffing.

"Who are you looking for?"

Kagome twisted her hands nervously. "Kikyou-sama."

"Ah," said the demons together.

"So..." began Kagome.

"So..." replied the demons.

"Can we go in or...?" asked Kagome, flushing as one of the demons sniffed her neck.

"You are too pure to pass," it said, poking Kagome.

Kagome blinked. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," said the other demon. "Terrible things happen to the innocents who enter the forest." It nodded slowly, its gaze shifting to Miroku. "_You_ may go in."

Miroku tried not to look so offended.

Kagome gave a soft cough, though Miroku was certain he'd heard her muffled giggle.

"So, um," she began, hiding her face from him, "how can I possibly speak to Kikyou-sama? It's very important that I—"

"Well," interrupted the first demon, "have you considered killing something?"

Kagome narrowed her eyes at Miroku. "So, you're the mind-reading type of demon, huh?"

Miroku hid a grin. "Kagome-sama is a miko. It goes against her very nature to harm other living creatures."

The two guards seemed contemplative.

"What about stealing?" suggested the second demon. "Would you like to steal something, little human?"

Kagome tried to keep a straight face. "That's _his_ job," she said, sugary-sweet, nodding at Miroku.

_Heh._

"Hmm," said the first demon thoughtfully, "perhaps, then, you ought to mate."

Miroku perked up.

"Agreed," continued the second demon. "Clearly, copulation would certainly remove any and all negative stipulations associated with the forest's curse. So glad I thought of it."

"What? Wait. _I_ thought of it!" shrieked the first demon.

"Didn't."

"DID."

Kagome, for her part, paled in terror. "_Mate_?"

"You are traveling with a male of the same species, aren't you?" asked the first demon frugally, trying to detach its companion from its leg. "Are you in need of instructions?"

Kagome took an involuntary step back. Right into Miroku. "No, but—but—"

"Give us a few moments!" grinned Miroku eagerly, wrapping his fingers around Kagome's forearm, and pulling her aside.

Kagome was blushing furiously. "Miroku-sama, I'm sure they're not—"

"Kagome-sama," said Miroku dramatically. "You need not worry. I am willing to sacrifice a few hours of my time for you."

Kagome twitched. "Miroku-sama—" she began huffily, then paused as his words sank in. "_Hours_?"

Miroku was inspecting his nails coolly. "Surely you don't expect me to perform unsatisfactorily. I do have a reputation to uphold."

Kagome's features softened as she glanced at the ground with a resigned wince, startling Miroku into a shocked silence. What?

_What did I say_?

"So," she mumbled, "exactly how many girls have you—I mean, um—never mind, I don't—I don't want to know."

Miroku blinked, watching her incredulously.

"Hey," shouted Kagome, waving at the demons, "is it possible for me to go in without—without—"

"Well, yes," said the second demon, gnawing on its companion's head, "but it would be very dangerous. Terrible, dark creatures live in—"

"I don't care," said Kagome, marching away from a still dazed Miroku. "Just let us in. We can defend ourselves."

_We can_?

"Kagome-sama," said Miroku hastily, jogging after her. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather—"

Kagome stepped on his foot. "Positive."

Miroku sighed, watching her little bottom sway in front of him. "Kagome-sama," he brooded, "we should reconsider. I could—"

Kagome flushed, frantically covering her ears, "La la la, I can't hear you!"

Miroku grinned, catching his finger on the waistline of her little skirt, effectively stopping her progress. "Oh. My mistake," he said, then lowered Kagome's hands and looked her straight in the eye. "How about now?"

Kagome's lips parted delicately.

"Good," he said, grabbing her hand. "Because I haven't—...what's this?"

Startled, Kagome followed his line of vision. "Oh. Um, I cut my finger on my Geometry book last night and—"

Miroku couldn't help it.

Casually, his tongue darted out to lick the cut. Kagome's eyes widened adorably. She harrumphed, lifting her chin, slightest bit rebellious and miserable and anticipatory, so Miroku gave her finger another quick lick, then ceremoniously looked up.

"Oh," mumbled Kagome, "that's... definitely..." here, she paused with a frown. "I have _got_ to stop with the clumsiness."

Miroku blinked.

"Uh, that is to say," she rambled, "I've had a lot of bad luck lately."

Miroku blinked twice.

"And last week—someone back home—"

Miroku raised an intrigued eyebrow. _Someone back home_. With a slight frown, Miroku indicated at her hand. "Who?"

Frazzled, Kagome fidgeted. "No one. Just—volleyball and Hojou-kun wanted to, but—you—"

Miroku understood very little of what Kagome was saying (so very incoherently), but two things stuck with him. One, _volleyball_. And two—

"Hojou-kun?" he asked, unruffled. Was that—

Kagome sighed exasperatedly. "Can we change the topic, please, Miroku-sama? It was a very traumatizing experience."

Miroku was half-tempted to indulge her (again), but, oddly enough, felt compelled to press on. "How so?"

Kagome pried his fingers off hers. "It just was."

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not a suitable explanation, Kagome-sama," noted Miroku coolly.

Kagome glared at him. "It's suitable if I say it is."

"I'm inclined to disagree."

"_Why_?" she sulked, crossing her arms.

"Well," began Miroku competitively, "considering that, by definition, 'because' tends to be in the habit of serving as a preamble to a _thorough _explana—"

"He tried to kiss me, okay!" shouted Kagome furiously.

Miroku closed his mouth. Oddly infuriated, he fumed silently for a few moments, then asked, in a low, agitated voice, "Why?"

Kagome narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?" she muttered ominously, poking his chest. "Is it so hard to believe there could be a boy that actually likes _me_, not Kikyou or Sango or Mitsuko or—"

"Kagome-sama, that's not what I—"

"—because, let me _tell_ you," continued Kagome angrily, "Hojou-kun _does_ like me, and—and maybe I like him, too! Because—"

Miroku kissed her.

That last resolve, that last crumb of politeness disintegrated into nothing but complete, unadulterated, potentially harmful anger, so Miroku pressed his callused thumbs into her soft cheeks, raising her chin upward—up and up until he could freely nip at her skin; wet and rough and slow.

To his complete and utter astonishment, Kagome mewled softly, sinking against him.

His anger melted instantaneously. Slowly, coherency reluctantly returned, bringing a profound amount of guilt with it.

_Was_ _that_ _her_ first—_hadn't Inuyasha_... _oi_.

"I apologize, Kagome-sama," he said, forcing himself to lightly push her away, marveling at the emotion in her eyes. "That was wrong."

Kagome said nothing. She just stood there, watching him as though she could see nothing else, so, inexplicably scrupulous, Miroku bent his head down again.

"As will this be," he warned, and gently brushed his lips across hers.

It was strange, this—this murky, abysmal stream of regret (why hadn't he done this _before_?) that ran so deep nothing could escape it. He wondered briefly if he could stop, and whether either of them could deal with the consequences if he _couldn't_. Of course, he was promptly distracted by Kagome's finely sculpted, warm curves and those arms, with the way they were shielding her breasts from his chest, and those shy, attentive hands that were holding onto his robes like—

"Uh, you can go in now," said one of the demons, scratching its chin.

Kagome jumped away, her cheeks glowing. "Right! We can! We are! Thank you!"

Miroku watched her wobble away with an almost-dreamy sparkle in her eyes. He grinned wickedly. "You're welcome."

A distant, "I wasn't talking to you, you... stupid... jerk," reached his ears, but Miroku decided he didn't much care for arguments at the moment. Or Naraku. Or his irreparable kazaana. Or—

With a stupid grin plastered all over his face, he bowed to the guards. The two struggling demons stepped aside helpfully, flexed, then tackled each other into the dirt with a faint, "Guess they didn't need instructions, after all."

And as Miroku followed Kagome deeper into the forest, he pondered several rather important questions.

One: was it going to rain? Two: where was Kikyou? And three—

_When can we _finish?

"Kagome-sama," he shouted, his lips curling appreciatively, "don't walk too far ahead of me. Dangerous creatures are lurking everywh—"

An arrow whizzed past his head.

"I know!" she shouted back, waving her bow at him. "You're one of them."

Miroku bit back a laugh. "Perhaps," he said as he caught up with her. "Though, in all fairness, I did apologize."

Kagome scuffed her toe in the grass. "But then you did it again."

"Did I really?" he asked, feigning shock. "I don't remember. Care for a reenactment?"

Kagome flushed, and threw Miroku a murderous glance. "I'm so never trusting you again."

Miroku was taken aback for a moment. He knew she couldn't possibly mean it, but... the prospect of losing someone's trust—Kagome's, especially—was highly unappealing. So, he opened his mouth to offer a sincere apology, but—

_Soulstealers_.

Several strips of ghostly demons were descending upon them, sailing against the breeze with an eerie wail. Miroku tensed, wondering why Kagome wasn't aiming at them.

"Are you doomed to repeat my mistake?" asked a frosty, distant voice.

"Kikyou-sama," yelped Kagome, turning.

A particularly hungry-looking soulstealer was gravitating near Kagome, so Miroku pivoted his golden staff in its direction, pushing Kagome behind him.

Kikyou's head tilted imperceptibly. "You _are_," she drawled with a shake of her head.

Kagome flinched. "Kikyou-sama, we're here to ask for your—"

"Help," finished Kikyou from her perch on a leafless branch. "My answer remains the same."

Miroku frowned. She'd asked before?

Kagome fidgeted, refusing to look at him. "Please reconsider, Kikyou-sama. Inuyasha—"

"Does Inuyasha know?" asked Kikyou cryptically, observing Kagome with an odd, puzzling expression.

And then, to Miroku's complete and utter shock, Kagome turned a dozen shades of red, averting her eyes. "No. Not yet."

"Does _he_ know?" asked Kikyou, and if Miroku hadn't known better, he would have sworn she looked mildlyamused.

Kagome blanched, coughing. "No. But that's not what I came here to—"

"You can't trust men," interrupted Kikyou coldly. "I thought reincarnations were supposed to learn from their predecessors' mistakes."

Miroku was, admittedly, quite lost.

"Kikyou-sama," pleaded Kagome, stepping closer to Kikyou's tree. "You know the truth now," she said, startling Miroku, "so, how can you let Naraku control us all like this? Again?"

Kikyou's eyes widened a fraction. "He doesn't control _me_."

Kagome took a step closer, and one more, and another, until there were none left to take. "I _know_ how you feel. I can't promise that we'll be able to fix everything—make it the way it used to be, but if the jewel—"

"_Foolish_!" hissed Kikyou, stiffening. "You can't use the jewel for _that_. No one should use the jewel for personal gain. No one can—"

"But what's its purpose, then?" challenged Kagome stubbornly. A tiny, proud throb pulsed through Miroku.

Kikyou's face was blank, but her eyes—

"Do what you wish," said Kikyou finally. "It's none of my business, these days."

Somehow, Miroku wasn't convinced. And apparently, neither was Kagome.

"Inuyasha's going to become a full demon," she said quietly.

Kikyou's head snapped up. "Why should I care?" she drawled unconvincingly.

"Because you _have_ to," said Kagome, frowning and balling up her little fists. "You could both still be happy!"

Kikyou's features softened for the briefest of moments. "Your optimism makes you vulnerable. But you'll see. It takes but a moment to change your mind."

And then she was gone, leaving Kagome to stare at an abandoned branch.

Cautiously, Miroku approached the tree, ready to console Kagome, but when he spun her around, she was—

She was smiling brightly.

"Kagome-sama?" he asked incredulously.

Kagome beamed. "Mission accomplished."

What was she _talking_ about? That was a _disaster_. "I don't think you were listening to the same conversation I was," he said, watching her lips curve happily.

"No, Miroku-sama," she replied, tugging at his robes. "You heard her. 'It takes but a moment to change your mind.' She's going to help. I know it."

Miroku frowned. "I don't—"

A loud, bloodcurdling howl echoed through the forest.

_Demons_.

So many of them, in fact, that the woods suddenly seemed like a sea of mangled, leathery serpents, peppered with hundreds of beady little eyes and fangs.

"So much for helping us," grumbled Miroku, scouting the area for either a shelter or an exit.

Kagome looked crestfallen. "No," she mumbled. "Can't be."

Miroku spied a suitable cover for what he was planning.

"I mean, she wouldn't send demons after us," babbled Kagome apprehensively. "That's not how Kikyou—"

The demons were uncomfortably close. Miroku pulled Kagome down, pushing her to the ground and crouching next to her.

"I mean, she doesn't really want us dead," said Kagome, oblivious to Miroku's preparations. "She just wants Inuyasha to die, but not really and—"

A flying beast of a demon flapped at them, spinning toward the ground at breakneck speed. Kagome shrieked and closed her eyes, burrowing into Miroku's arms. The demons, as a whole, were practically breathing down their necks. With practiced ease, Miroku loosened his protective beads, wrapping his other arm around Kagome.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and whispered into Kagome's ear, with gentleness and desperation born out of worry, "You'll have to trust me."

She looked up at him, through thick, dark eyelashes, with wonder and the tiniest amount of fear, and snuggling into the crook of his shoulder, whispered back, "I do."

And all was well with the world, as far as Miroku was concerned.

Except—

It really, really wasn't.

His kazaana wasn't quite cooperating. The fractures around it tore just a little bit more with every demon the kazaana sucked in, and a new sense of panic overtook him. What if—

What if this was _it_? What if he could never close his hand again? What if—

Frantic, he scrambled up, pushing Kagome away. He'd forgotten. If this was really _it_, she had to get away. Or else—

"Miroku!" she gasped, covering her mouth, trembling and horrified and he _knew_. He knew she saw it. Saw the kazaana.

At once, she flung herself at him, clutching at his robes desperately. "Close it. CLOSE IT."

Breathing hard, Miroku obeyed. He barely noticed that the demons were gone. Barely noticed he _could_ close his hand.

And so, the forest was, once again, quiet. Except for Kagome.

"Mushin can repair it," he lied, stroking her hair soothingly.

Kagome said nothing.

Was she—was she... _crying_?

Miroku watched her carefully. He'd never seen her cry before. Not like this. And now—now, he saw what he'd never seen before. She genuinely _cared_ for him.

"You lied to me," she whispered, her fingers digging into his skin.

"We should go before more of them come," said Miroku calmly, controlling his breathing.

Kagome didn't move for the longest time. Finally, though, she looked up, and then, gathering every ounce of strength and willpower and courage, she said, "You're right."

Miroku relaxed slightly.

He couldn't understand why he was feeling _guilty_. After all, it was _his_ problem, _his_ life, _his_—

Kagome.

Kagome was looking at him. "I'm going to hit you so very hard when Mushin fixes you."

Miroku was torn between laughing and giving up. So,never?

"Agreed, Kagome-sama," he nodded, pointing toward the path. "We're late for dinner."

Kagome winced. "I'm sorry."

Miroku shrugged, guiding her toward the clearing. "Don't be. I'm not that hungry."

Kagome gripped his forearm. "Not for that. For—"

"I know," he replied, giving her a soft smile. He was so incredibly tired.

Despondently, they made their way to the forest's guarded entrance. Fleetingly, Miroku wondered why everything was so quiet—no birds, no waterfalls, no leaves rustling—but forgot all about it as Kagome stepped through a thin barrier they hadn't noticed before. She turned to him, offering her hand.

Miroku reached out to take it, but—

The entire forest dimmed.

Miroku spun around.

Kagome was gone. The _exit_ was gone. The only sound surrounding him was that of his jangling staff. And—

"That was thoroughly entertaining, houshi," said a familiar voice.

Miroku's eyes widened, then narrowed with so much hatred his very soul ached. "_Naraku_."

One of Naraku's dolls came into view. Miroku swung at it but missed.

"I'm not here to fight you, houshi," said the voice beyond the baboon pelt, a spiteful smirk lingering on its thin lips. "I'm here to help."

Miroku was beyond furious, but before he could open his mouth to shout at that damn spider, Naraku nodded at the woods. A pattern of elegant, thin silks stretched as far as the eye could see.

And women.

There were women everywhere.

"Is this what you want?" asked Naraku curiously, fading into the darkness.

Miroku looked around, bewildered. What the hell was going on? And why—why were those women looking at him like that?

"NARAKU!" he shouted loudly, stabbing the ground with his staff. "What did you do to Kagome?"

Only silence greeted him.

"Ooh," said one of the women, sliding up his body, "a houshi."

Miroku frowned, trying to push her away.

"A _cute_ houshi," said another woman, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Miroku gaped.

A third woman smiled at him, untying her silk sash. "_Our_ houshi."

Miroku blinked, trying to understand what had happened. One moment, he was reaching out for Kagome's hand, the other—

"My sincere apologies," muttered Miroku (who would have been extremely pleased in different circumstances), "but I need to be on my way."

The women gave a collective sniffle. "But don't you want to stay with us, houshi?"

Miroku found himself seriously shocked at his answer.

"No."

No. He really didn't want to.

..._why_?

"Houshi," cried one of the women, caressing his cheek, "stay."

Miroku frowned.

"You'll like it," whispered another. "We'll make sure of it."

Miroku gritted his teeth. _Stupid_. Why hadn't he realized...?

"Naraku, _stop_," he growled low in his throat.

The women turned to ashes before Miroku's eyes.

"Ah," sighed Naraku dramatically, "I was sure that was what you wanted."

Miroku was shaking with rage. "Naraku, enough. Enough of your tricks. Come out and fight like a—"

"Mm," hummed Naraku. "Let's try something different, then."

And within a moment, Miroku was back at the exit, reaching for Kagome's hand.

"C'mon, Miroku-sama," she said pleasantly, "or they'll eat all our food."

Miroku paled. What was going on? Was this another one of—

"Hey, Miroku-sama?" sang Kagome excitedly, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward a large tree stump.

"Yes?" asked Miroku warily as she pulled him down with her.

"Why do they call it Devil's Tower, anyway?" she asked with an adorable little smile, snuggling into the crook of his shoulder like she belonged there.

Miroku glanced around, confused. Then, he frowned, trying to see where Naraku was hiding and—

Kagome poked him.

"Pay attention to me," she said quietly.

So, Miroku did.

Not once did he wonder why he was feeling dizzy and disoriented, because, aside from a general feeling of disconnectedness, he was _content_, sitting there with Kagome in his lap.

"So, why?" she asked, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Mmm?" he asked, returning the favor.

"Why do they call it Devil's Tower?" she whispered against his skin.

Miroku's muscles loosened most pleasantly.

"Because, once upon a time, in a village not unlike ours," he began softly, "eight children were playing a game."

Kagome was squinting at him.

"Not that kind of game," he chuckled, tangling his fingers in her hair. Kagome relaxed against him. "Seven little girls and a boy. The boy, their brother, pretended to be a bear so he could chase his sisters around the forest."

Kagome sighed sleepily. "Are you sure it's not _that_ kind of game?"

Miroku's fingers explored lower, slowly sliding down Kagome's spine. "But suddenly the game changed," he spoke, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "The boy _became_ a bear. Frightened, his sisters ran deeper into the wilderness, seeking protection. Soon, they came across a tall tree, standing alone in the forest."

Kagome squirmed, nuzzling.

One of Miroku's arms firmly wrapped itself around Kagome's waist, pulling her on top of him. " '_If_ _you_ _climb_ _up_ _on_ _me_, _I_ _will_ _save_ _you_,' said the tree." With a small, satisfied moan, Miroku pressed Kagome against his chest, grinning as her hands instinctively stretched across his body.

"And so the tree rose, higher... and... higher," murmured Miroku, pressing Kagome's hips against his own.

"Uhn," she sighed, arching into him. "And what—what happened to the boy?"

"The boy grew angry, and slashed at the tree with his claws," said Miroku lazily, wrapping a leg around Kagome's and flipping them over. He raised an eyebrow, massaging her hipbone with the palm of his hand. "But the tree kept growingtaller... and... taller, reaching the heavens."

Kagome's cheeks were adorably flushed, her eyes downcast and shy.

"Soon, the bear fell asleep," whispered Miroku, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Kagome's ear, "and became a boy once more. But it was too late."

Kagome closed her eyes, tilting her head. "What happened?"

"The tree had grown too tall," he said slyly, and to emphasize his point, lowered his lips to her collarbone, gently grazing her skin. "And the seven little sisters could not climb down to rejoin their brother," he continued as she writhed under him, "so, they were reborn into the sky as stars."

"Mhh," mumbled Kagome, scrunching up her nose. "So, the point of the story is—be careful what you wish for?"

"No," replied Miroku, grinning against her skin. "The point is—"

"—that you could have this," said a third, cold voice. "Have _her_."

Miroku blinked, and in an instant, the world was gone.

"Naraku," he growled.

The baboon pelt shimmered into existence.

Frustrated, Miroku buried his head in his hands, then looked up sharply, fighting his anger. "Coward."

Naraku laughed humorlessly. "Like I said. I have no intention of fighting you, monk."

"What. Do. You. _Want_?"

"_I_ want nothing," replied Naraku complacently. "But _you_ do," he said, staring impassively. "You want to drown and burn and be buried in her, don't you?" he whispered, circling Miroku slowly. "Ku. I'm afraid I've been quite inattentive. I was rather under the impression she belonged to the dog. But this—this is veryuseful."

Miroku rose. "Your tricks won't work on me."

Naraku faded into the night. "You're close, houshi. Death is calling you, isn't it?"

Shaking with rage, Miroku spun on his heel. "I—"

"—want to live?" asked Naraku, appearing ahead. "I can help. I only ask for one thing in return."

Miroku scoffed derisively. "I don't make deals with demons. If you can actually be called one, _Onigumo_."

A sharp, invisible string tore across Miroku's shoulder, slicing at his skin. "Houshi," hissed Naraku in warning. "You're going to listen to me."

Flinching—his shoulder was burning—Miroku snarled. "What could possibly make you think I'd EVER listen to you?"

"Hmm. You don't know the story, do you?" said Naraku. "He never told you."

Miroku narrowed his eyes angrily. "What story? Who—?"

Naraku's lips stretched into a pleased sneer. "Your grandfather."

Miroku clutched his staff, tightening his grip until his knuckles turned white. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Ah, ignorance," said Naraku wistfully, escaping the moonlight once more. "You never wondered why I gave him the kazaana?"

"Because you're a sick bastard?" growled Miroku, trying to predict Naraku's next move.

A thin branch slashed across the air, cutting through Miroku's robes and slicing at his chest. "Partly," said Naraku, emerging from the darkness. "But mostly because he wanted it."

Miroku started.

"He _wanted_ it," taunted Naraku, gliding through the woods. "He begged for it."

"LIAR!" shouted Miroku, swinging his staff blindly.

A rustle of fur. A sliver of white, and Naraku was standing before him. "Would you like to know why?"

Miroku couldn't think straight. "Shut up."

"Men are weak," said Naraku, floating away and appearing on a thick branch above Miroku's head. "I'd know. I _was_ one."

Miroku slashed at the tree with his staff.

"Ku," sang Naraku, "I thought you would be a little more responsive to my generosity."

Miroku's blood boiled. "Generosity?" he spat angrily as Naraku faded only to appear behind him.

"Your grandfather was a foolish man," came Naraku's voice. "Fickle all his life." The baboon pelt dropped to the ground. "But he _fell_, houshi."

"Fell?" Miroku heard himself ask.

"For a woman," was the echo. "For a worthless, ordinary woman. Your grandmother."

Miroku watched the discarded pelt on the ground sink into mud.

"She's the reason you're going to die," continued Naraku. "It's always a woman's fault. Always."

Miroku snapped out of it. "_You_ were the one who put the curse on—"

"Because he asked me to."

"You're lying—"

Naraku, robes fluttering, surfaced under the sinking pelt. "He wanted my help. A thief helping a thief steal a heart. It was surprisingly _difficult_, houshi. But I held up my end of the bargain," he smirked. "And now, you're holding up his."

Miroku felt numb. "He wouldn't—"

A chilly laugh swept through the branches.

"Fine, then. Let me _show_ you instead, houshi."

And before Miroku could process Naraku's words, the scenery changed.

Anxious and frustrated, Miroku slowly spun around and—

—_Kagome_?

"Shh!" she whispered, holding a finger to her lips, and taking his hand in hers. "Remember, we're in stealth mode."

Miroku's head swam in confusion. "Kagome-sama (Kagome glanced at him oddly), what are you—"

Kagome kissed him.

Dazed, Miroku returned the kiss, quite enthusiastically, but—

Kagome broke away, panting. "Sorry," she grinned, "but that was the only way to shut you up. But, really, we have to concentrate, or we'll miss it."

Pulse still racing, Miroku tried to compose himself. "What are you looking for?"

"Shh!" she shushed him playfully, "or he'll hear us and we'll _never_ find him." She winked, tugging at his sleeve.

Miroku blinked, confused. "Who? Naraku?"

Kagome gave him a startled glance, then giggled, shaking her head and tangling her fingers with his. She looked around, and sighed dramatically. "I wonder where he could be!" she said loudly.

Miroku frowned. Certainly, if Kagome continued in this manner, her prey—whatever it was—would always keep one step ahead of her and—

What was that noise?

"Kagome!" he growled, catching her wrist and pushing her behind him. "Stay back!"

"Mi—"

"It seems to be hiding under the covers," whispered Miroku warily, carefully approaching the lumpy bundle. With a quick glance to assure himself Kagome was perfectly safe—though incredibly... _amused_?—Miroku gripped his staff with one hand, and reached out with the other for the squirming sheet.

A muffled giggle forced him to jump back.

_What the—_?

Tentatively, Miroku grasped the sheet once again, bending his neck slowly and trying to figure out what was hiding beneath the fluffy covers and—

The demon pounced.

"Daddy!" it shrieked, wrapping its... very small... very human fingers around Miroku's neck.

_Daddy_? What in Buddha's—

"Tetsuya, Daddy needs to breathe," said a soft voice. Kagome knelt down, hovering over a deathly bewildered Miroku, who was sprawled on the ground, wondering—_wait_. _Tetsuya_.

Tetsuya was pouting.

Miroku watched, overwhelmed, as this little ball of tiny limbs and soft, dark hair and huge, blue eyes sulked. His pouty bottom lip curled with an obviously practiced whimper as his little fingers poked Miroku's chest. "Daddy's no fun."

Kagome laughed. Tetsuya smiled brightly at her, reaching up. And Miroku... Miroku was staring, awed and—truthfully—_terrified_.

"Mine?" he asked, relearning how to breathe.

Kagome blinked. "What?" Tetsuya snuggled into her lap.

"_My_ son?"

Kagome narrowed her eyes. "Oh, no," she grumbled, "I _will_ sue for child support if you try that 'Oops! I've suddenly contracted chronic amnesia!' stuff on me."

Miroku failed to respond.

"Miroku," she said, worry softening her features, "are you feeling o—"

"I'm fine," he interrupted. Because it was so very obvious. This was merely another illusion. Another trap. Another one of Naraku's dirty tricks. But...

Tetsuya looked so much like him.

Except, unlike Miroku, Tetsuya was bouncing all over the place, shrieking with glee as Kagome caught him by his little arm and hauled him back onto Miroku's mat. "Bed?"

Miroku gaped. "Bed?"

Kagome raised both eyebrows, faint traces of a blush appearing on her pink cheeks. "Pervert," she accused theatrically, poking his chest. "I'm going to go make the bed. You," she scrunched up her nose, "try not to break anything."

And with that, she scampered off, out of the small cozy hut, leaving Miroku with—

An extremely curious child.

Miroku raised a wary eyebrow. "What?"

Tetsuya giggled, reaching out his little hands.

Miroku looked around for Kagome, then scratched the back of his head.

Tetsuya yawned.

Crickets chirped.

Miroku shifted awkwardly.

Several candles flickered in the breeze.

Tetsuya sneezed.

"You're not real, are you?" asked Miroku thoughtfully.

Tetsuya seemed offended.

"Up!" he said.

Miroku looked left. Miroku looked right. Miroku looked at the child. "Up?"

"UP!" giggled Tetsuya, squirming.

Hesitantly, Miroku gripped the boy's sides and—

"Whee!" shrieked Tetsuya. "Higher!"

And before Miroku knew what was happening, the boy was being slung over his shoulder and tossed in the air and bounced on his knee and—

"Miroku!" shouted Kagome as she passed them, carrying a stack of fluffy cushions. "If you drop him, we're not having another one!"

Tetsuya giggled, flopping down onto Miroku's arms and snuggling. An ache within Miroku's chest loosened. That cute little nose, and those eyes that looked so familiar—

"Higher," said Tetsuya happily, though he was yawning and tugging at his odd little robes. Miroku leaned on the mat, letting the boy bounce off and looking warily over his shoulder for any signs of Kagome.

"Higher!"

Miroku sincerely doubted what he was doing was entirely healthy for a child Tetsuya's age (what was he, two, three years old?), but found himself strangely unable to say no to this child. _His child_.

Bewildered, Miroku slowed, catching the boy in his arms.

"Sleepy yet?" he asked softly, grinning as Tetsuya nodded adorably and curled up into a ball. Lazily, Miroku drew a warm quilt over them, wrapping one arm around the tiny little thing on his chest.

"You know, I thought you said he was too old to sleep with us," said Kagome from the doorway, but she was smiling brilliantly. "Move over."

Miroku did, noting her warm, tempting curves as she stretched next to him, wrapping an arm around Tetsuya, and consequently, Miroku. For the longest moment, Miroku didn't want to move for fear of—

Ruining it.

"Is he asleep?" came a soft whisper.

"I think so," murmured Miroku. Promptly, his eyes widened.

Kagome's hand.

Her hand, soft and light and strangely familiar, began sliding lower, under one layer of covers, patiently fighting its way through the fabric, grazing against his robes and wrapping around—

"Kagome..." he breathed.

And for a moment, Miroku forgot that nagging suspicion and surrendered to a wonderful, unfamiliar, perfect feeling of peace. Whatever was wrong with the world outside could and would _have_ to wait until—

The silkiest of touches averted his attention to his neck. "Today," began Kagome, her lips lingering on his pulse point, "he said we owe him a sister." She smiled against his skin, and murmured, "Or a kitten. Either way."

Miroku caught her wandering hand, and brought it to his lips. "Mhm. That's my boy. Always thinking of his father."

Kagome swatted him. "You realize, of course, he wants to be exactly like his daddy?"

Miroku turned to look at her. "Say that again."

"Well, maybe not _exactly_ like you," she muttered. "I'm sure once he finds out about your—ah, Miro_ku_!"

Miroku grinned wickedly, retrieving his hand. "Say it."

Kagome snuggled closer, ruffling Tetsuya's hair. "What?"

Miroku lowered his head, pressing a kiss to Kagome's forehead. "Say it."

Kagome nuzzled his hand. "He wants to be like you."

Miroku grinned at the ceiling. _So, that's what it feels like_. "Kagome."

"Yes?"

"Tetsuya will surely be disappointed if we don't present him with a sibling soon."

He could hear Kagome giggle happily, but—

But the sound was growing distant. Very distant.

Miroku's eyes snapped open.

No—

_Don't_.

_Don't_ _take_ _it_ _away_.

But the scene faded, shimmering brilliantly for a moment and shattering into a thousand irretrievable pieces.

Scowling, Miroku tried to adjust to the sudden emptiness surrounding him. _Can't think_. _Shouldn't_.

"Do you understand now?" asked a cold, condescending voice.

Miroku nodded dejectedly.

"There's not much an ordinary man could want in this day and age. A family. A peaceful life. Perhaps a little wealth," continued Naraku smugly. "But remember, houshi. You should hate her."

Miroku, who was still trying to understand why he felt as though he'd lost his heart, bared his teeth. "I assure you, Naraku, all my hatred is reserved for you."

Naraku smirked, pausing. "You are cursed because of a woman. Your kazaana broke because of a woman. _Twice_," he sang wryly. "Yet, you despise _me_?"

Miroku grinned sardonically. "Apparently, it's in my blood."

"Ally yourself with me."

Miroku's head snapped up. "Never."

"I could easily kill you," reminded Naraku. "I could also easily lift the curse."

Miroku glanced at his gloved hand.

"I could give you what you want, houshi," drawled Naraku. "You are tempted. I can feel it."

Miroku rose calmly, dusting off his robes. "I can get what I want on my own." The clank of his staff was soothing. "Unlike _you_."

A growl tore itself from Naraku's lips. "Houshi."

Miroku turned. "You're right," he said. "You _could_ easily kill me. But you haven't. You need something from me," he concluded.

Naraku was baring his teeth. "I grow bored of you, houshi," he snarled quietly. "The jewel and the dog. I want them. In exchange for your life. And the girl's. Your choice."

Miroku closed his eyes, listening to the wind. "You're dying, Naraku," he said. "The stench of decay is all around you. Ease your burden and die. You—"

A sharp claw dug into his back.

Miroku dropped to his knees, wincing. A blur of white sailed past him, hissing against the breeze. '_I'll_ _come_ _to_ _collect_,' it seemed to have said, but Miroku was too exhausted to pay attention. He leaned against his staff, controlling his breathing.

Naraku was gone.

And—Inuyasha was coming.

Within a minute, the hanyou's footsteps sounded as though they were very close, and soon, Miroku could hear Inuyasha's loud cursing, even through the rain.

"Where's Naraku? And why the _fuck_ did you go without me? Why the fuck did you take Kagome? Why—" he growled, dropping into a crouch in front of Miroku. "...you can answer me later, when you're less dead."

Miroku chuckled. "On time as usual, Inuyasha."

Inuyasha sniffed the air, then flinched. "What happened?"

Miroku tried standing up, but Inuyasha forced him back down again. "Idiot monk," he grumbled worriedly. "Where the hell are Kagome and Sango? I don't feel like burying you by myself."

Miroku grinned, wincing as every muscle in his body protested. "Fine. Then I just won't die."

Inuyasha nodded, glancing around. "Dying's overrated anyway."

Kirara's deep snarl made Miroku look up.

"Houshi-sama!" gasped Sango, dismounting the demon cat.

Where?

Where was Kagome?

"Houshi-sama," whispered Sango anxiously, then turned around, petting Kirara's snout. "Kirara, go get Kagome-chan, please."

And so, Kirara set off, disappearing from view before Miroku could blink. Inuyasha sat down on the muddy ground opposite Miroku, hiding his hands inside his haori. "What did Naraku want?"

"The usual," replied Miroku, coughing. Slowly, he untied his outer robe, flinching periodically. Sango blushed and seemed torn between wanting to help him and her sense of propriety. Eventually, though, she knelt behind Miroku and tentatively lowered his robes, muttering about monks and demons and stupid rain—

"Miroku-sama...?"

Kirara touched ground roughly, trying to control a squirming Kagome. Kagome quickly jumped off and froze. She hesitated for a moment, then broke out into a run, reaching Miroku before he had a chance to open his mouth. She lowered herself to the ground hastily, and flung her arms around Miroku's waist, burying her head in his shoulder.

Sango blinked, blushing. Inuyasha's eyebrows shot up as he jumped away in shock. And Miroku—

Miroku knew he had to push Kagome away.

Because she was a weakness. An extraneous flaw Naraku would keep exploiting. So, he _had_ to push her away, for both their sakes. He had to keep her away.

Which is probably why Miroku crushed Kagome to his chest.

"Don't let go," he said.

"I won't."

His cuts and bruises were screaming in protest, but Miroku only tightened his grip, molding her body to his and—

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

_Inuyasha_.

Inuyasha was holding the Tetsusaiga with both hands, growling and pointing incredulously. "What are you—and you—LET GO OF HIM! NOW!"

Kagome shivered against Miroku, and slowly extracted herself from his embrace. "Inuyasha. Sit."

"Kagome-chan," began Sango cautiously as Kagome's cheeks turned a dozen shades of red. "What...?"

Kagome fidgeted with Miroku's discarded robes. "Um. I'm not allowed to worry about a friend?" she huffed. "And speaking of, we should really get him to Kaede-baachan so she can treat his wounds because all I can do is sterilize and possibly cauterize them, and that's kinda hard to do in the dark and besides, I'm sure everyone's hungry, so—"

"Sango," grumbled Inuyasha, finally able to get off the ground. "Take the monk and head for Kaede's."

Sango nodded.

Miroku was already propped against Kirara by the time he realized what Inuyasha planned on doing—something the hanyou always did when he couldn't protect (or control) Kagome. He would—

He would send her back to her time.

"_Wait_," said Miroku, but Kirara was already carrying him off toward the village.

.

.

.

.

.

This—this must have been what a prelude to disaster tasted like.

How could he possibly explain?

To Inuyasha, to Kagome, to Sango—to _himself_?

It had been a moment of weakness. _That's all it was_. Nothing more. It would never happen again. _Ever_.

Miroku—so very tired and so very lost—was resting against one of Kaede's cold walls. Sango and Kirara had delivered him safely; Kaede had patched him up and... Inuyasha hadn't returned yet.

And—

_Fuck_.

It was Naraku's fault.

It was Naraku's fault Miroku was in withdrawal right now. To show him something like _that_; something so perfect and unattainable...

Miroku refused to think too deeply on any of the more urgent issues—his inevitable death and Kagome's safety being the primary predicaments. An image of the forest—from above—was fixed in his mind. The trees seemed to have been bending their branches ominously under the rain, as though they'd been trying to tell him he was making a mistake. A big mistake.

_No one says no to Naraku, houshi_. No one.

Miroku tapped his fingers on the ground, annoyed beyond belief.

It was useless to think about anything, anyway.

Kagome wasn't here. Neither was Inuyasha. Which, bluntly put, sucked. Miroku needed to talk to him—perhaps even civilly—because the hanyou did deserve an explanation. Regardless of his obsession with Kikyou, Inuyashadid have... feelings for Kagome.

The thought left a bitter taste in Miroku's mouth.

"Houshi-sama?"

Miroku jumped, turning his head. _Sango_.

"Houshi-sama," she began hesitantly, sitting down opposite him. "Can we talk?"

Miroku flinched inwardly. He'd forgotten. "Certainly." He considered adding an inconspicuous innuendo, but just couldn't muster the energy, or the interest, to do so.

Sango was silent for a long moment, staring at one of Kaede's pots.

Miroku waited patiently.

Sango sat motionlessly.

Miroku waited some more.

"What did you do to Kagome-chan?" she said eventually, unable to look at him.

Miroku gaped stupidly. "Do?"

Sango looked up accusingly. "Is this some kind of idiotic competition between you and Inuyasha? Are you trying to teach him a lesson? What's going on? What did you _do_ to Kagome?"

Miroku stiffened. "Better question would be what did she do to _me_?" he grumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. I haven't done anything to Kagome-sama," he said nonchalantly. "Inuyasha is just overly protective, and sees danger where there is none."

Sango was watching him intently. "Houshi-sama, I was _there_."

Miroku gave up.

"He can't," he gritted out. "He can't need or want her when it's _convenient_ for him."

Sango flushed, clearly embarrassed by his straightforwardness. "He—he's trying."

"He shouldn't have to _try_," replied Miroku.

Reluctantly, Sango nodded. "He's changing. _She's_ changing him. Kagome-chan is good for Inuyasha."

Miroku felt a twinge of guilt. He knew he was setting himself up, but—

"But he's not good enough for her," he said.

Sango attempted to school her features, blushing uncomfortably. "With all due respect, houshi-sama... neither are you."

Surprisingly, Miroku found himself grinning. "True. But as I told Inuyasha when we first met, I am a very sore loser."

Flustered, Sango stood up. "A competition between you two will only hurt Kagome," she said worriedly, though her face was perfectly stoic. "And your selfishness is hurting the group. Hurting our goal."

Miroku winced.

"You could have at least waited until the jewel was completed," she told him slowly, then added, under her breath, "like some of us tried to."

And then she was gone, leaving Miroku to his own rudimentary thoughts.

Ugh. He had to stop thinking altogether. Because it was obvious. Naraku had succeeded. Tension within the group was rising again. Fortunately, Miroku could easily transfer his guilt, because—because it was all Naraku's fault anyway.

And it wasn't as though he was... _in_ _love_ with Kagome. He just... just...

"Hi."

Miroku's head snapped up.

Kagome was standing there, grumpily sucking on a small bottle of water.

Miroku's eyes widened. "Kagome-sama," he breathed incredulously, practically forgetting everything that had happened. "What are you doing here? I thought Inuyasha—"

Kagome's left eyebrow twitched dangerously. "Inuyasha is making a new friend," she mumbled.

"The ground?" grinned Miroku, wondering why none of his cuts and bruises hurt anymore.

Kagome bit back a smile. "Get out of my head."

"Gladly," he replied contently, watching Kagome as she tentatively licked off a droplet of water. "Any suggestion as to where I should relocateto?" he asked, raising a wicked eyebrow.

Kagome choked violently as his words sank in. "You—you really do have a one-track mind. Why do I keep forgetting?" she grumbled, wrinkling her nose. Nevertheless, she stuffed her empty bottle into a crammed corner, and sat opposite him on the mat. Miroku tensed, his robes tightening.

"We have to talk," she said softly.

Miroku willed his brain to cooperate with the rest of his body. "About?"

Kagome flushed, twisting her fingers. "Hypothetically, if someone you cared for... no, wait."

Miroku did.

She frowned, then looked up at him with determination. "If something happened to you—"

"For instance?"

"Um... death."

Miroku stiffened, unconsciously drawing his right hand closer to his chest. "Old age?"

"No," she whispered. "Say you died, and there was a way to bring you back, would you want to—would you want to be brought back?"

Startled, Miroku watched her. She needed to stop asking questions he had no genuine answers to. "No."

Kagome blinked apprehensively. "No?"

Miroku shifted. "There is a preordained design for everything," he explained reasonably, hoping his voice held the conviction he didn't. "Bringing me back would disturb the natural order of things."

"But—"

"Would you?"

Kagome averted her eyes. "Would I what?"

Miroku tilted his head curiously. "Would you want to be brought back?"

Kagome's shoulders slumped in defeat. "No."

Miroku nodded approvingly. "Now that we've proven the extent of our unselfishness," he smiled—hopefully, in a calm, confident manner, "perhaps you could—"

"But what if it was the other way around?" she asked suddenly.

Miroku started. "What do you mean?"

Kagome leaned closer to him, whispering, "What if I died? Would you try... would you try to bring me back?"

_Yes_.

"Kagome-sama," he began cautiously. "Why are we discussing such gruesome scenarios when you are obviously dressed quite inappropriately?"

Flustered, Kagome scooted away. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been thinking," he said. _Life is short_. "It is far too hot and humid for either of us to remain clothed."

"Miroku-sama, it's barely 25° C—"

"And—" he continued casually. _I want you_. "—we are alone."

Kagome was observing him with an odd, unfamiliar expression. "Miroku-sama?"

"Yes?" he answered, fixing his eyes on a blushing Kagome. Kagome, for her part, bit her lip, glanced at the door, then shyly lowered her head, and—

Pounced, tugging on Miroku's ponytail. Within moments, his hair was unbound, falling around his face and tickling his already sensitive skin. "Kagome—"

"Sorry," she said, though she didn't look very apologetic, sitting there, playing with his hair. "Just one tiny little braid, okay?"

Miroku nodded incredulously, holding her hips in place. Slowly, as Kagome's fingers wove through his hair, Miroku realized there was only one thing more dangerous than Naraku. _Kagome_. Because she was squirming and wiggling and... Miroku's hands severed any and all truces they'd established with Kagome's body.

And since it seemed as though she could spend all night fussing with his hair, Miroku's hands wound their way around Kagome's waist, pinning her to his hips. Firmly.

"Kagome-sama," he mumbled warily as Kagome stilled. "Theoretically, what would you do if I said I needed something from you?" Gently, he shifted, and she bounced, flushing.

"Depends on what you'd need," she replied apprehensively.

"You," he said.

She was sitting, hushed, of her own volition, listening carefully, looking fascinated and confused and—

"Good thing it's only theoretical," she whispered shakily, trying to remove his hands with a halfhearted frown. Promptly, she untangled herself from him, and stood up. "Miroku-sama—"

He was on her before she could reach the next syllable.

"Kagome," he told her, and for a moment, an odd sense of déjà vu seeped through his flesh. Reality was crashing in on him. Every little gash, every little cut and bruise was draining his energy; his bones were hurting, his muscles were sore, and his soul was tired. Very tired.

He needed to fix it.

"I'll wait for you," he said, pressing her against the wall.

"I—"

"Outside," he finished, letting go, and withdrawing from Kaede's hut.

He didn't turn around once as rain continued to fall. Slowly, he reached one of the bulky, tall trees, and leaned against it, waiting.

_It has to be her choice_.

Except, Kagome wasn't exactly known for making particularly wise choices.

With a frustrated sigh, Miroku crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the storm.

He knew she wouldn't come. Because she loved Inuyasha. And there was someone—someone in her time. _Where she belongs_. But—

But _what_?

_I should go back_. _Apologize_.

Because it was unfair to put such pressure on her; it was unfair to crave instant gratification simply because this new sense of panic—of not having enough time, of not having enough of _anything_—was overwhelming him. It was unfair to Inuyasha. To Sango. And—it was what Naraku wanted. So, _no_.

With an aggravated frown, Miroku turned, reluctant and annoyed and—

Kagome was standing there, fidgeting with her wet sleeves.

"It's raining," she said sheepishly. "You shouldn't be out in this weather."

An exhilarating sort of calmness descended upon Miroku, so he said, smiling brilliantly, "I'm going to take that as a yes, Kagome."

Kagome huffed petulantly, wiping at her cheeks. "The size of your ego is truly horrifying."

"Just my ego?" he teased, reaching out for her.

Kagome turned a dozen shades of red. "Oh, God," she whined as he stepped closer. "Is it too late for me to go back in?"

"Yes," he said as something very possessive traveled through him. This time, it wasn't one of Naraku's tricks. Couldn't be.

"Fine," she said as he wrapped his arms around her. "But don't you dare blame me when you catch pneumonia and—"

Miroku kissed her.

And as she responded to his touch, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing, he knew. Knew it wasn't friendship anymore; hadn't been for a long time. It was need and desperation and fear. It was—

_A flash of light_.

And a sickening sound of tearing flesh.

Instantly, Miroku felt the world drop from under him.

A rich, coppery substance coated his lips. _Blood_.

_Not—_

_Not mine_.

Panic crawled along every inch of his skin as he pulled away to look at Kagome.

And Kagome—

Kagome was breathing hard, surprise shining in her eyes. For the briefest of moments, Miroku could pretend the surprise was there because he'd kissed her, but Kagome sagged against him lifelessly and his heart froze because—because her face was glistening like it had been bathed in the morning frost and her eyes were growing cold and distant, fading fast—

—and her blood was dripping off his fingers—and—

And there was that one, last echo.

"I've come to collect, houshi."


	10. Lodged

**Author's** **Notes**: Bet you thought I was gonna stand you up to go out with a different story and let it buy me popcorn and diet Pepsi and hold my hand.

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**_Chapter_**_ **Eight**: **Lodged**_

_The rain to the wind said,_

_'You push and I'll pelt_._'_

_They so smote the garden bed_

_That the flowers actually knelt,_

_And lay lodged—though not dead_.

_I know how the flowers felt_.

—Robert Frost

.

.

.

Sinking.

She was sinking.

And in her dream—

_They_ _play_.

_She's_ _the_ _protagonist_—_the_ _Law_, _the_ _ancient_ _moral_; _bound_, _tamed_, _soft_. _She_ _is_ _the_ _Norse_ _Sol_ _and_ _Svalin_, _Dante's_ _Beatrice_, _fire_ _and_ _shields_ _and_ _protection_.

_He's_ _the_ _antagonist_—_pure_ _Chaos_; _wild_, _unfettered_, _free_. _He's_ _Jung's_ _Shadow_, _Freud's_ _Id_, _ice_ _and_ _waterfalls_ _and_ _respect_.

_It's a secret, of course, and she hides it well_.

_She says she hates it, but she'll do it again_.

_She'll_ _surrender_. _She'll_ _let him drown_ _and_ _burn_ _and_ _be_ _buried_ _in_ _her_.

_But sometimes_, _the demon_ _will_ _come to her first_.

_Come_ _and_ _wonder_.

_Wonder if it_ _should_ _make_ _Inuyasha_ _watch this time_. _If_ _it_ _should_ _pin_ _the_ _dog_ _to_ _a_ _tree_, _run_ _a_ _finger_ _down_ _his_ _jaw_, _and_ _say_, "_Behold_, _Inuyasha_. _My_ _creation_."

_She_ _can_ _hear_ _it_.

_She_ _can_ _hear_ _it trying to pull_ _her_ _strings_.

_Because_ _it_ _loves_ _seeing_ _her_ _cry_. _Makes_ _it feel_ _superior_, _her_ _constant_ _suffering_. _Mm_. _No_ _real_ _reason_. _Just_ _because_ _it_ _can_. _Because_ _it_ _holds_ _grudges_ _forever_. _Because_ _she_ _makes its life less_ _boring_.

_Because_ _it_ _wants_ _her_.

_Because_ _it's_ _angry_.

_Because_ _it's_ _learned_ _its_ _lesson_.

_It's_ _tried_ _before_. _It's_ _killed_ _her_. _Didn't_ _work_. _But_ _it's_ learned.

_The_ _dog_ _is_ _fickle_. _Death_ _is_ _fickle_. _The_ human heart _is_ _fickle_.

_Betrayal_ _is_ _not_.

_She_ _hears_ _it_ _whisper this_ _in_ _her_ _ear_.

_It tells her she's addicted_. _Tells her it's planned it this way_._ Tells her the monk—the monk was a _challenge;_ says it didn't think he would be_. _But he's gotten_... _attached_.

_He's_ _hungry_ _for_ _revenge_ _and_ _he's_ _delirious_ _with_ _hatred_ _and_ _he_ _needs_ _her_ _now_.

_Miroku needs her_.

_And she_ _likes it_.

_She_ _likes_ _that_ _he_ _needs_ _her_.

"_It's_ _disgusting_—_what_ _the houshi_ _did_ _for_ _you_," _the_ _demon_ _tells_ _her_. "_Pathetic_. Human."

_But_ _in_ _her_ _dream_, _she_ _doesn't_ _care_.

_So_, _maybe_ _she_ is _addicted_.

_Maybe_ _she can't play by the rules_. _Maybe she doesn't need Inuyasha_. _Maybe she's not Kikyou_. _Maybe she's not repeating her mistake_.

_Maybe she's learned, too_.

.

.

.

.

.

She was drowning.

But it was a soft sort of death; slow and deliberate and hers.

The ground was slipping beneath her—had been for months, hadn't it?—and she let it. Because she'd been here—this river, this crossing—before. And now she was back again. And she saw what she'd never seen before.

She saw him.

And he smiled at her and died and she wanted them to stay in this land, together, and never wake up.

Only, she wouldn't.

She wouldn't do this again.

She—

—_wouldn't_.

Kagome woke with a start.

And a deep, frightened breath that filled her aching lungs with panic.

Disoriented, Kagome—who'd tangled herself into a number of disheveled sheets and blankets—sat up. In her own bed, in her own time, in her own pajamas. Her soft pillow was propped against her (why was her back itching?), and her curtains were billowing in the breeze (had Inuyasha been here?) and—

Someone was sleeping next to her.

Kagome blinked, confused.

Why would—

"Mama?" she frowned slightly, tapping her mother's shoulder in concern.

For a moment, Kagome felt ridiculously distant—that initial feeling of 'I shouldn't be here!' was missing. It was the briefest of seconds, really; a tiny sliver of time that made her feel so _silly_ for believing in demons and time travel, a short moment where she considered herself completely, utterly insane for feeling as though her heart had been rendered numb over something that shouldn't even have existed.

"Kagome?" yawned Mrs. Higurashi, blinking away her confusion. Then, suddenly, her features shifted into an unusually concerned grimace. "_Kagome_."

Kagome blinked as her mother placed a warm hand on her forehead. "Mama, what—"

"Inuyasha brought you back two days ago," explained Mrs. Higurashi calmly, though the lines around her eyes seemed to be deepening with an odd, unfamiliar burden.

"Why?" frowned Kagome, baffled. A small part of her rejoiced at this—this recognition of Sengoku Jidai (_I'm_ _not_ _crazy_!), but the _rest_ of her... "Wait. I don't remember—what—"

"He said you were bitten by something," interrupted Mrs. Higurashi quietly, not meeting Kagome's eyes. "Snake, I take it...?"

Kagome's lips parted, forming a bewildered, "Oh."

Mrs. Higurashi cleared her throat and stood up, fetching something from the cupboard. Kagome stopped paying attention.

What? What was her mother doing here, looking so exhausted? Why'd Inuyasha bring her back? Bitten? She'd been bitten? By what? When was this? How could she get bitten? Why—

"Nonsalicylate analgesic-antipyretic or acetylsalicylic acid?" asked Mrs. Higurashi innocently, cocking her head to the left.

Kagome's brain self-destructed.

"You're no fun," smiled Mrs. Higurashi kindly, and promptly stuck out her pale hands toward Kagome, each offering a small pill container. "Tylenol or Aspirin?"

Kagome swung her legs over the tangle of blankets, and sat up, reaching for her mother's left hand. "He could have at least had the decency to tell you WHAT bit me," she grumbled.

Mrs. Higurashi was strangely quiet, fidgeting with her skirt as she sat down next to Kagome. "I didn't—I didn't exactly give him a chance to."

Kagome gaped at her mother. "Er... what do you mean?"

Mrs. Higurashi winced guiltily. "Kagome, you slept for two days. I don't know what kind of bite would do... that to you. We couldn't wake you up—_he_ couldn't wake you up. I was worried. I—"

"Kicked him out?" shrieked Kagome, mentally compiling an extensive list of apologies.

But Mrs. Higurashi wasn't laughing.

Kagome quickly closed her mouth.

What had happened while she'd been asleep? Why was her mother so worried? _Was_ there something to be worried about? 'Cause, Kagome wasn't particularly concerned. She was used to this—used to so much weirdness that nothing seemed impossible anymore.

After all, she'd had her soul stolen (on numerous occasions), had survived demons and half-demons, had been kidnapped (again, on numerous occasions), had been thoroughly... hff, _molested_! by a lecherous monk and—

Oh, God.

A sudden rush of memories—of stolen little moments and strong emotions—chased through her.

'_I've_ _been_ _thinking_. _It is far too hot and humid for either of us to remain clothed_.'

'_Miroku_-_sama_, _it's_ _barely_ _25_° _C_—'

'_And_ _we_ _are_ _alone_.'

"Kagome," asked Mrs. Higurashi worriedly. "Are you okay? You look nauseous."

Momentarily distracted (had that _really_ happened?), Kagome looked at her mother. "Mama, I—"

"What's wrong? Please. I know I haven't been..." With a remorseful little frown, Mrs. Higurashi straightened her back, as though she was sick of _not_ _talking_, and fixed her eyes on Kagome. "Please tell me."

Shocked and... melty, Kagome glanced at her mother with wide eyes.

"Anything," nodded Mrs. Higurashi contritely, pulling out a handkerchief, and wiping at a smudge on Kagome's face. "Anything you feel like talking about. Ice cream, boys, Sengoku Jidai, _anything_. I just want to listen for a while."

Kagome tried desperately to remember the last time she'd actually stuck around long enough to talk to her mother. And failed. So, as various other snippets slowly trickled back into her memory, Kagome shrank into herself.

'_Theoretically_, _what_ _would_ _you_ _do if I said I_ _needed_ _something_ _from_ _you_?'

'_Depends_ _on_ _what_ _you'd_ _need_.'

'_You_.'

"I'll take number two from that list," she said, as several pink spots appeared on her cheeks.

Mrs. Higurashi's eyebrows shot up. "Eh? _Boys_?"

Kagome whimpered, fidgeting with a pant string. "I... guess. Um. Because... er..."

"Anything, Kagome," reminded Mrs. Higurashi gently.

'_I'll_ _wait_ _for_ _you_.'

"What if—what if..." began Kagome, fighting off a headache. "Okay. Before I explode—would it be possible for a girl to fall in lo—er... _care_ _for_ _someone_ today—_1997_—and then, by caring for this person, she—gah!"

Mrs. Higurashi watched her daughter warily, concern evident in her eyes.

Frustrated, Kagome hugged her pillow, not meeting her mother's eyes. "In love. If I—she! If SHE fell _in_ _love_ with someone, and went back to the past and that same person was there, too—only, he wasn't aware that he was also _here_ and that this girl was in love with him—but _because_ she was in love with him, she acted differently and he somehow, maybe, possibly, kinda fell in love with her, too—although I'm positive it's just lust 'cause he's not the type to love someone—and then he died and was reincarnated but could remember everything," here, Kagome paused for oxygen. "And then, _because_ he could remember being in lov—st, _lust_ with this girl, he acted differently and the girl had absolutely NO choice but to fall in love with him and then it was just this big, evil circle of a paradox... whose fault would it be? Technically?"

Mrs. Higurashi was staring at her daughter, nervously twisting a handkerchief.

Kagome faltered. "Mama...?"

Mrs. Higurashi snapped out of it, cleared her throat, then fixed her gaze on her daughter. "Kagome."

"Yes?" asked Kagome cautiously, fidgeting with her pillow.

"Did I ever tell you I wasn't very good at science?"

Kagome's shoulders slumped as she exhaled with relief. "No. And it's hereditary."

Mrs. Higurashi observed Kagome for a long moment, then, unexpectedly, reached out and pulled her daughter to her lap. Kagome melted into her, feeling tears prick at her eyelids.

"It's really not that complicated," she babbled, sniffling. "Maybe I should draw a chart or—"

"Kagome," interrupted Mrs. Higurashi, running her fingers through Kagome's hair. "You know I've always been supportive of this whole... thing, right?"

Kagome nodded, curling up against her mother.

"It must be terribly exciting," continued Mrs. Higurashi softly, "running around Feudal Japan, with all these... _creatures_, working on something so big, so important..."

Kagome closed her eyes.

Truthfully, this _big, important_ thing...?

Not so important at the moment.

"But I don't think I can share you any longer."

Startled, Kagome looked up. "Mama?"

Mrs. Higurashi seemed not to have heard her. Soothingly, she continued running her fingers through Kagome's hair, staring at an invisible spot on the wall. "You don't belong there," she said, but sounded unsure. "You don't."

Kagome burrowed deeper, flinching guiltily. "I know."

"And you wouldn't be happy in Feudal Japan."

"I know."

"No electricity, no phone, no bunny slippers, no pocky."

"I know."

"So," continued Mrs. Higurashi in a softer voice, "I'm going to miss you."

Kagome's eyes widened. Slowly, she raised her head to look up at her mother.

Mrs. Higurashi smiled, sniffling. "Life is short, Kagome," she said, weaving through Kagome's hair, and braiding its matted locks. "When you were very little," she continued gently, and Kagome suddenly felt as though she were five years old again, cradled in her mother's lap, eager and sleepy and waiting for a bedtime story, "I told you not to go past the shrine."

Kagome's lips curled.

"Guess where I found you three minutes later?" asked Mrs. Higurashi fondly, her eyes darkening with pleasant memories.

"Sleeping peacefully in my bed, like a good little girl?" tried Kagome sheepishly.

Mrs. Higurashi smiled affectionately. "I found you five streets down, staring at a wall."

Kagome giggled softly.

"And I was so angry," said Mrs. Higurashi, playfully tugging at one of Kagome's braids. "So furious. I thought you'd been kidnapped or run over by a car or lost and hurt and crying for me somewhere. But you were just standing there when I ran up to you and you looked at me, Kagome, and do you remember what you said?"

Oddly subdued, Kagome shook her head slightly, clutching her mother's skirt.

"You said, 'Stupid wall, mommy!' and ran off again, trying to find another way into the next street."

Kagome smiled, sniffling. "Bet they were selling pocky there or something."

Mrs. Higurashi was strangely quiet.

Timidly, Kagome glanced at her. "Mama, I'm not—I'm not going to...I'll _come_ _back_. I promise."

"You wouldn't be happy here, either," said Mrs. Higurashi with a small, genial sigh. "Quite the conundrum, hmm?"

Kagome smiled against the bristly material of her mother's skirt. "Big word."

"Big decision," countered Mrs. Higurashi.

Kagome stiffened.

Why? Why now? Why did she have to decide _now_?

"That boy—" began Mrs. Higurashi daintily, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "—that boy better appreciate all you'll give up for him."

_I'm _not_ going to_—

"Mama, it's not Inu—" began Kagome hastily.

"I know," replied her mother with a wink. "I know it doesn't seem that way sometimes, but I do pay attention. You're my _daughter_, Kagome. And I might not understand everything about you (or science), but I do understand that this is something—something I have absolutely no say in."

Kagome's heart ached. "I—"

"_So_. If that monk," here, Kagome's eyes widened, "does _anything_ to upset you, either here or there, I'm going to—going to—have a talk with his mother, that's what!"

Kagome grinned, genuinely grateful and surprised with her mother's perception and selflessness and compassion (_is this what I can offer Shippou one day_?).

"I... you haven't seen the way he—" she said, then paused, flustered.

She hadn't properly explained the situation to _herself_, so... how could she possibly explain it to anyone else?

"He drives me insane," she said finally.

Mrs. Higurashi choked on a laugh. "You don't say."

"No, you don't understand," defended Kagome vehemently. "I'm talking criminal offense here. Dark and dangerous and pretreated for a white padded room. He's _crazy_."

"About you?" asked Mrs. Higurashi, poking Kagome's nose.

Kagome flushed to the tips of her toes. "I... don't... I don't think—"

Mrs. Higurashi smiled brightly. "I'm sorry to say this, Kagome, but people don't exactly stop to think in situations like these."

_No_ _kidding_.

"But," continued Mrs. Higurashi, seemingly happier, though Kagome could have sworn her voice was slightly strained. "Ultimately, the decision is yours," she said sotto voce, then quickly segued into a cheerful, "—go. Take a bath while I finish dinner. I sort of came in to check on you, and fell asleep."

Kagome's chest constricted. She'd been that worried?

"Okay," said Kagome, smiling at her mother. "I apologize in advance if I deplete Tokyo's water reserve."

Seriously, what was with the stickiness and... where was her uniform?

"We can always steal some from the Russians, dear," said Mrs. Higurashi lightheartedly. "Do you need anything?"

Kagome smiled happily. "Candy?"

Mrs. Higurashi's features softened noticeably. "And...?"

"More candy."

Mrs. Higurashi chuckled merrily, shook her head, and opened the door. "Fine. But at least wait until your grandfather wakes up from his nap so he can help me pry you off the ceiling."

And as the door to her room softly clicked shut, Kagome flung herself on her bed, vaguely aware of a small pang somewhere on her back. Quick and jumbled, her thoughts and memories mixed; ice cream with Miroku, and stumbling upon a sleeping Inuyasha, and her fingers wrapping around fluffy ears, and Miroku's hands, bare and traveling and removing her blood-soaked skirt in one fluid, practiced movement—

Wait.

Blood-soaked...?

_I'm going crazy_.

Annoyed with herself and her excess of unnecessary angst, Kagome dragged herself out of bed, and walked over to Souta's room, in order to retrieve that one secret stack of Ramen and pocky she'd been hiding in his desk. Because she had to go back. Stupid snake bites and disturbing dreams were definitely not enough to keep her from—

"Nee-chan?" said a puzzled voice.

Kagome blinked. How'd she get to Souta's room already?

"Oh, hey, Souta. Um, don't mind me. I'll be out of your hair in a s—"

But Souta cut her off.

With a tight hug around her midsection.

"You're awake," he mumbled into her pajamas.

Confused, Kagome pried him off her. "Er... when am I _not_?"

"When Inuyasha brings you home wrapped up in a blanket and herbs and you don't respond even when I say ODEN?" replied Souta wearily.

A brief image of an overwhelmed Kaede—and then, one of flying through the air in Inuyasha's arms—flashed through Kagome's head.

_Dream_, she told herself firmly.

"What's that?" asked Kagome, pointing behind Souta in hopes of distracting him.

Souta glanced over his shoulder. "_Evil_ _Dead_ _XI_, but—"

"Really!" said Kagome, rifling through his desk. "Why aren't you playing it?"

"Because I just came home. But—"

"Oh, silly me," said Kagome. "I just haven't been thinking straight today." Or, ever. "Hey... where's my stuff?"

Souta flushed. "Erm... um."

"Yes?" asked Kagome, putting her hands on her hips.

"Well, you see..."

"Uh huh..."

"I..."

"Yes..."

"Remember when you came back home a few months ago and you were all weird about trying to find Nachan's phone number and I was _going_ to tell you, but you didn't want me to, so I... eheh, um, didn't tell you that I... er... sorta... you know. Ate your stuff."

Kagome blinked.

_Nachan_?

Her little brother was calling Miroku—

"And I'm _sorry_," wailed Souta, "but Mama wasn't home and grandpa would have boiled his socks for dinner and I was _hungry_."

Kagome blinked some more.

"Are you—are you mad?" asked Souta anxiously, fiddling with a notebook.

"Quite possibly," replied Kagome brightly. "But not at you."

Souta relaxed, wiping his forehead for effect. "Have I told you lately that you're the best sister in the world?" he asked sweetly.

"It's still coming out of your piggy-bank."

"DARN!"

Kagome giggled, patting his little head like she would a puppy's. "I might be persuaded to forgive you once I catch up on my homework. So, let me use your phone to call Ayumi and—"

Souta beamed. "Oh, you don't have to. I have all your notes."

Kagome observed him suspiciously. "How—"

"For me to know, and you to never find out," said Souta, grabbing his _Evil Dead XI_, and bolting out of the room.

Kagome smiled to herself.

And then, as she was walking back to her room, she realized something she hadn't thought about since stepping foot in Sengoku Jidai.

She wanted to see Souta grow up.

She wanted to be Yuka's bridesmaid, wanted to be there when Ayumi became a famous scientist, wanted to talk Erri into buying those really ugly shoes, wanted to spend time with her mother and grandfather, wanted to attend university and have ice cream and watch movies and listen to music and—

And... would she have given all that up for Inuyasha, had things been different?

What kind of a life would she have had with him once the jewel was completed? Demon, human, or caught in between—Inuyasha wouldn't have... wouldn't have been enough.

Inuyasha's love _wouldn't_ have been enough to keep her happy forever. No one's love would have been enough. _No one's_.

Because—_no work, no school, no growth, no comfort, no use_.

It wouldn't be a good life.

It was impossible to have a good life in the Warring States. It was.

It wasn't as if she could... could just... wake up every morning... and see... Miroku (_Miroku_, _Miroku_, _Miroku_)—the thick, dark eyelashes and the tousled hair and the earrings and the satiated smirk on his lips—and consider herself truly happy.

Except.

She could.

Flustered, Kagome unbuttoned her pajama top. With an absentminded little frown, she gathered two towels and headed for the bathroom while a single—_stubborn_—thought kept replaying in her head.

_Miroku_.

_Waking_ _up_ _next_ _to_ _Miroku_. _Watching Miroku lose control_. _Disappearing under those skilled hands of his_, and...

...having him assassinated for turning her into a pervert.

Seriously, what was _wrong_ with her?

Blushing furiously (_God, those_..._ stupid_..._ lips of his_...), Kagome shut the door behind her, glaring at her shampoo as if it were responsible for her disturbing train of thought. Carelessly, she shimmied out of her pajama bottoms, draping them over the doorknob and rushing to turn on the faucets.

And as the tub quickly filled with berry bubbles and various girly salts, Kagome could have sworn she'd heard faint voices coming from her bedroom (or possibly, the living room), but chalked it up to Souta and his brand-new _Evil_ _Dead_ _XI_ (who'd bought it for him anyway?).

Soon, she was scrubbed clean and apple-y and sighing happily and soaking up the myriad of soft, pleasing scents and splashing around in the tub and—

_Bam_!

The door to her bathroom burst open.

Pulse racing, Kagome blinked.

"Oh," said the nonchalant silhouette from the doorway. "You're naked."

Kagome struggled for oxygen. "Miroku...what... what are you doing here?"

Miroku grinned happily, as though he hadn't _really_ expected to find her here, and shut the door behind him. "Sorry," he apologized, though he looked anything but repentant. "Heard strange noises. Didn't know you were back. Had to investigate. Sincere apologies."

Kagome wished she'd stayed in bed. "Right, um..."

_Yell at him_! _He's—he's_... _lecherous and evil and rude and here to take advantage of you in your own home and_—

"Hi," she said.

_Or_..._ do that_.

Miroku's grin widened mischievously as he observed her. Frazzled by his sudden presence, Kagome offered him an innocent smile and... and what was he _looking_ at—agh!—stupid anatomy and cold and...

She could feel it change.

The air, the air around him was different—confident and fearless and dangerous—and he narrowed his eyes oddly and locked the door behind him and asked, in a voice belonging to someone much less menacing, "Kagome?"

"...yes?"

Eyes peculiarly dark, Miroku took a step closer, tilting his head inquisitively. "You know what I hate about the 20th century?"

Self-conscious to the extreme, Kagome sank deeper into the tub, grateful for the foamy layer of body wash covering most of her skin. "What?"

"This," he said, and knelt in front of her, swiping a finger over her forearm and glaring at the tuft of lather that came off. "Though, if I wait long enough, it'll all go away and you'll be perfect," he finished, blowing a few stray bubbles off his finger.

Kagome shivered.

..._perfect_?

Oh. Oh! Um.

Naked.

_God_.

Mortified, she lifted her eyes to his, searching for a reason to hate him (which would have made throwing him out relatively easy), but—

But... but this was _Miroku_.

And his eyes were darkening visibly as he watched her with an unmistakable, oddly familiar hunger that terrified and disturbed and delighted and brought her to life and—

"But I'm sick of waiting for it to go away, Kagome," he murmured, and suddenly, Kagome realized he wasn't talking about her ultra spiffy body wash anymore.

Hadn't been talking about it from the start.

No, no, no, _no_. She had to distract him. Had to stop this. Had to tell him that she was sick of waiting, too, and that she wanted answers and wanted them now (wanted _him_ now—eek, no...!)—

"So... um... how was your week?" she coughed uncomfortably, in hopes of diverting his attention.

"_Two_ weeks," was all he said. And then—

Then he was in front of her, eye-level and burning up and gripping the rim of the tub, his knuckles turning white. "It's been two weeks, Kagome."

"So... good?" she concluded delicately, averting her eyes with an intensifying blush.

"Kagome?" he asked, and all she could see were his lips, lightly curled and that subtle grin and— "Has he kissed you yet?"

Kagome's shampoo bottle clattered to the floor. "What? I mean... you mean—"

"So. _Yes_?" asked Miroku fervently, eyeing her lips.

Kagome was burning with humiliation. "Yes," she mumbled, unable to look at him. She was busy concentrating on a glassy bead of water that was sliding down the shower curtain when—

"_Finally_," groaned Miroku, and—

And...

He tasted like chamomile.

So soft and so warm and so comforting she thought her heart would burst.

"Can't tell you how long I've waited to do this," he panted against her lips, shrugging out of his uniform top. "To have you so close and not be able to—" he tugged on his collar impatiently, barely pausing in his assault on her lips.

Several scented soaps tumbled into the water around her, but Kagome didn't notice.

This.

_This_ was what he'd done to her when she'd seen him last. _This_ was what mollified that new, insistent ache within her. _This_ was what she—

"Miro-kun," she mumbled, her resistance wearing so, so, _so_ very thin. "I have to—"

"No," he muttered, bringing his hands up to cup her face. "Talking, bad," he whispered, running his thumb over her bottom lip, only to follow it with an excruciatingly enticing nip a moment later.

_Agreed_, but—

"About the kazaana."

Miroku froze.

"I saw—I saw it, and I know you lied to me," continued Kagome, gathering every ounce of courage she possessed, but soon, guilt snuck its little hands into her conscience, and held tight, until her voice faltered. "I know Mushin-sama can't fix it. I—it's none of my business, I know, but... wait, what am I _saying_? Of course it's my business! I—"

Miroku's expression was unreadable. "You..." he paused, his brows furrowing as though he was trying to remember something he'd rather not. "Devil's Tower already?"

Kagome frowned. "Yes...?"

His lips were forming a thin line. "So, that means—"

And then, suddenly, he was gathering her in his arms purposefully, and his fingers were warm—_burning_—and her skin was quickly cooling off and tingling and his hands were sliding down her slippery back, lower and lower and—

What—what was that his fingers had brushed across?

Kagome's eyes widened.

Miroku let go off her and hastily stood up, leaning against the sink and scowling. "Guess I didn't imagine it, then."

Tentatively, Kagome brought a hand behind her back, touching her own skin. A small stab of foreboding pricked at the back of her head. The feeling intensified, burning deep behind her breastbone. Because—

Because... her skin.

There was something on her skin, stretched across the small of her back.

"Miroku...?" she asked uncertainly.

Miroku averted his eyes, almost guiltily. "Just ignore it. It'll go away."

Stunned, Kagome fumbled blindly for a towel. Mirror. She needed to get to a mirror. Because a heavy feeling of dread was settling around her, like a hand around her heart, crushing and warning and just _there_, and—

—and it was a mark.

_Spider_.

Kagome tensed, her eyes widening in disbelief. When? How? Why?

"Miroku...?"

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, startling her into turning away from the mirror. "I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me—?"

Kagome's mind was in overdrive. Panicked, she tried to remember. There was something—something—

'_It's_ _raining_. _You_ _shouldn't_ _be_ _out_ _in_ _this_ _weather_.'

'_I'm_ _going_ _to_ _take_ _that_ _as a yes, Kagome_.'

'_The size of your ego is truly horrifying_.'

'_Just_ _my_ _ego_?'

'_Oh_, _God_. _Is_ _it_ _too_ _late_ _for_ _me_ _to_ _go_ _back_ _in_?'

'_Yes_.'

And—

And _then_...?

"What did you _do_?" she asked, horrified.

Miroku was watching her intently. "Nothing you wouldn't have done had the situation been reversed," he said, but sounded incredibly uncertain.

Kagome wrapped the towel tighter around herself, and sat on the tub's edge. "I'm not hallucinating, right? I mean, there _is_ a spider mark on my back? Naraku's mark? How? Why? I—I don't remem—"

A soft gasp escaped her lips.

Those dreams she'd been having.

They were—

Oh, God.

"What—what did he want in return?" she asked numbly.

Miroku flinched, quite clearly surprised she'd pieced it all together. "It really doesn't matter, Kagome."

"It matters to _me_!"

"Fine," said Miroku, grinning with his usual crooked charisma. "He wanted a lifetime supply of pocky. And a laptop."

Kagome's mouth seemed to malfunction. _Crazy_. Absolutely, completely, appallingly crazy. "You—can't you be serious for just one second?"

"That would detract from your nudity, so no."

"_Focus_!"

"Well, drop the towel, then."

"Argh! I—"

"—can hear you from the street!" grumbled a boyish voice from the other side of the door. "Keep it down or Grandpa will have a heart attack. And I have nothing black to wear for the funeral."

Miroku grinned, picking up his discarded uniform top. "Don't worry, Souta-kun," he replied loudly, "we're just working on giving you a little nephew for Christmas."

Kagome blanched.

Souta's muffled laughter reached through the door. "Okay," he shouted, adding, "I get to name him, though!"

Kagome waited until she was sure Souta was gone to launch herself at Miroku. "You corrupted my little brother?" she shrieked.

Miroku raised an amused eyebrow. "_We_. We corrupted him. You're the one hanging all over me, after all."

Kagome flushed furiously, then pushed Miroku away, tugging protectively on her towel. Seriously, had she really been contemplating spending the rest of her life with this monster barely an hour ago?

"Big mistake on my part. Won't happen again," she grumbled, picking up her fallen bath accessories.

"Mh hmm," nodded Miroku, tilting his head as she bent down. "You forget I remember it differently."

Kagome threw her conditioner at him. "And you forget _I_ can change it."

"Can't."

"Can, too."

"Can't."

"_Can_."

Miroku grew serious. "_I_ couldn't change... that," he mumbled, pointing vaguely at her back. "Nothing can change, Kagome."

Kagome's heart sank.

She didn't care about the stupid mark on her back, didn't care what had happened to her, didn't care what _would_ happen to her, but she _did_ care about—

"You're not going to die," she said stubbornly. "I'll think of something."

Miroku smiled affectionately.

"I _will_," she added emphatically, balling up her fists.

Miroku took a step forward. "And then what?"

Kagome blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Say you do manage to change what happened," he said softly, playing with a wet strand of her hair. "_Then_ what?"

"Then..." she faltered. "Then you get to live happily ever after."

A dark shadow hid Miroku's face from view. "With?"

Kagome's heart skipped a beat or four. "Well, um," she began experimentally, "with whomever you'd... um... want."

"_Anyone_ I'd want?" he asked, pressing against her.

"Well, if you plan on having six wives, probably not," she replied, trembling. "I think Sango would be out of the question in that case."

Right. Smart. _Bring_ _Sango_ _into_ _this_.

"Hypothetical question, Kagome," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "Can you be in two places at the same time?"

Kagome resisted melting. "You mean, can I exist in two times, like with Kikyou—"

"No," he interrupted, kissing her neck. "If I wanted you. If he wanted you. Where would you _be_?"

Kagome froze, looking at him.

Oh, God.

_I_...

_I can't_ _possibly_ choose.

"You're the same person, for heaven's sake!"

"Exactly," hummed Miroku, his hand sliding to the knot in her towel, his long fingers surreptitiously brushing across her breasts. "And I deserve you more anyway."

Kagome couldn't help it.

She laughed. Loudly.

"I'm starting to hate your hypothetical questions. Especially when they're this ridiculous," she said, shaking her head and pushing him away. Because she. Didn't. Care. There was no way she'd just do _nothing_. There was no way she would give up. Because no matter what, she'd break. She'd break if she had to lose _any_ of her friends. And to lose Miroku, even though she could never truly _have_ him—

"And—_'deserve_ _me_ _more_,' " she snorted, trying to imitate his serious expression. "What am I, dinner?"

Miroku cocked his head. "If you insist," he grinned, pulling her closer.

Flustered, Kagome swatted at his chest. "Did you not fill your grope quota this month or something?"

Miroku gave her an offended glance. "So, he gets to do this and I don't?"

Kagome's lips curled modestly. "Same person, remember? And—and, he doesn't get to do it, either! Hff!"

"Discrimination, I say."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

She was slightly tempted (_damn_ _him and his contagious_... _ness_). But instead, Kagome chose to relax in his arms, leaning her head against his chest. "It's all going to work out, you'll see, and then I'll rub it in for years and won't let you live it down, _ever_, and you'll be sorry for doubting me—"

Miroku smirked. "At the moment, it's working out for me. Especially the rubbing."

Kagome extricated herself with fake indignation. "I'll have you know I—"

"Stay."

Kagome blinked. "What?"

"Stay here," he said warily. "Don't go back."

She wanted to say so many things, but in the end, all that came out was, "Why?"

Miroku rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, adamantly avoiding her eyes. "I don't know what will happen beyond a certain point. So, I can't let you—what if you can't—"

Kagome exhaled slowly.

He... had a good point. Everything was so uncertain. And Kagome was a little sca... _worried_. She was in way over her head, after all. If she went back, she'd have to confront Inuyasha again and—and... Sango. Sango would need an explanation. One that wouldn't make her hate Kagome for such selfishness. Or Miroku for taking advantage of what had been offered to him so willingly. Or—

Huh.

That was_ it_.

Problem solved.

Kagome winced, burrowing into Miroku's chest for comfort.

Because... because this would have to be the last time. She would go back and help Inuyasha complete the jewel. And once that was done, she would find a way to get rid of Miroku's curse. He would be happy—whole life in front of him. Life with Sango. Or Koharu. Or anyone who wasn't Kagome.

And this Miroku...

This Miroku didn't need her help—didn't need _her_. He'd been doing fine before he'd met her (Yuka, Mitsuko, half the female population...), and he'd be fine if Kagome stayed in Sengoku Jidai. For Shippou. For Shippou and Inuyasha and Kikyou.

Because she would _have_ to.

Without the jewel shards, she would have no choice.

A sudden thought made her gasp.

_Mama_.

_She_ _knows_.

"I'll come back," lied Kagome, detaching herself from Miroku. After all, he'd lied to _her_—numerous times, at that—and it was only fair she return the favor (so, why couldn't she look him in the eye?). "But more importantly," she continued, forcing her voice to sound cheerful. "What are you doing here on a...?"

"Monday," he supplied, clearly willing to change the topic, as well. "Souta's been blackmailing me into dropping off notes and homework."

Kagome smiled fondly, her heart aching. The thought of having to say goodbye to her little brother—

_Stop_.

"He wouldn't blackmail you. But in case he _has_," she began lightheartedly, ushering Miroku out of the bathroom, "I'd like to know what he's got over you. Because... unfair."

Miroku arranged his features into a saintly expression.

Kagome shook her head, amused and smitten and unaware and—

Miroku pecked her cheek.

"By the way, your mother invited me to stay for dinner," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "And, apparently, a sleepover. Methinks the lady doth have some serious competition."

Kagome giggled, pushing him out. "Liar. I know you proposed to Grandpa while I was gone."

Miroku gave her a horrified glance. "You've been spending too much time with me."

"I know," she said pleasantly, and shut the door.

The smile quickly slipped off her face as she stared at the tiled wall, all shiny and spotless and bland.

Tonight.

She would say goodbye tonight.

But _first_, she would rinse off and put on her favorite blue pajamas and fill up on sugar.

And so, several minutes later, Kagome—perky and wearing giant, fluffy bunny slippers—bounced into the family room, announcing her presence by showering the bickering Souta and Miroku with lots of pocky.

Souta twitched suspiciously. "What's wrong? Why are you sharing your precious food? Are you dying? Am _I_?"

Kagome patted his little head. "Depends. Did you really blackmail Mi...zuo-kun?"

Souta squirmed. "No."

Miroku raised an offended eyebrow.

Souta coughed, fidgeting with his game controller. "Well, maybe just a little. But—but it's his own fault!"

Kagome plopped down on the carpet next to him. "Really?"

"No," said Miroku.

"_Souta_..."

Souta shrank under their twin gazes. "Gah! I like you two better when you're making babies instead of ganging up on me when I haven't really done anything wrong and—!"

Kagome exploded. "WHAT?"

Souta, clearly relieved she'd been distracted from the original topic, turned back to the TV, pushing random buttons even though the screen read 'Game Over'. "Nachan told me _all_ about it!"

Kagome twitched.

Coughing, Miroku made to bolt, but she threw a cushion at him. "Freeze."

"He's lying," said Miroku, putting up his hands in surrender, and ducking her repeated attacks.

Souta tittered.

"We've talked only of... documentaries and... science," said Miroku earnestly, but his eyes were so incredibly... _searching dictionary for appropriate adjective_...

"I guess it's my fault," she said, unable to keep from smacking Miroku. Or smiling.

"Yeah!" nodded Souta enthusiastically. "That'll teach you to leave us alone all the time."

Kagome's features softened.

_Don't think_.

_Because it's_ _your_ _fault_. _Your_ _fault_ _the_ _jewel_ _is_ _broken_. _You_ _have to come through for Inuyasha_. _You have to_—

"Ha! You lose again!" whooped Miroku suddenly, pointing at the screen.

Souta's eyes widened pitifully. "Ah! Cheater!" he shrieked, attacking Miroku's leg. "Grow up already!"

Miroku laughed, trying to shake Souta off. "You grow up. It's not my fault I'm better at this."

"You promised you'd let me win!" pouted Souta.

"You're delusional," sulked Miroku. "I said I'd give you twenty points advantage. Apparently, that wasn't enough."

Souta narrowed his eyes playfully. "Rematch. Forty points advantage."

Miroku observed his little opponent. "Thirty."

"Fifty," grumbled Souta.

"Kagome, I think your brother's failing math."

Kagome couldn't quite reply. She was too engrossed in their banter to form an actual opinion.

Was she really ready? Was she really ready to leave all this? _Them_?

Souta scratched his chin. "Forty, and I won't tell Kagome about—"

"Deal," said Miroku hastily.

Kagome's eyebrows shot up. "Tell me what?"

"Nothing," he said, shooing her away.

Kagome beamed down at Miroku, poking Souta's leg with her fluffy slipper. "What?"

For the briefest of moments, Souta's expression resembled Naraku's. "He's got a—"

"Souta-chan," Miroku cut in, saccharine-sweet. "Remember last week, when your mother asked about—"

"_Nachan_!" screeched Souta, his eyes widening comically.

"—and I told her you'd been in school all day and—"

"Aghhh!" screamed Souta, covering his little ears. "Fine! But—but you're awful."

"Not at _Evil Dead XI_, I'm not."

"ARGH!"

Kagome giggled, curling up on the sofa and yawning. Miroku grinned, abandoning the game console, and sneaking up on her. Souta kept grumbling under his breath, throwing an occasional glare in their direction.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" asked Kagome, watching him and marveling at how he just... fit in. And how, after months of dismissing her home and her friends and her family, she actually wanted to fit in, too. Desperately.

Miroku grinned. "I might."

Kagome narrowed her eyes huffily. "Pervert."

"I didn't even say anything yet," brooded Miroku, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. "But since you suggested it..."

"DINNER!" came an elderly voice from somewhere behind them.

Kagome stretched, hesitating. She really didn't want to move. Didn't want to end this conversation. Didn't want to have dinner and have that end, too. Because time was just going so very, very fast today. Ever since she'd made her decision, every minute seemed to have sped by without her consent. More time. She needed more time.

_Stop stalling_.

"Nee-chan, aren't you coming?" asked Souta, rolling up the excess wires, and tripping over Miroku's backpack. "Oden night, mama said."

Kagome perked up happily.

"Uh..." muttered Miroku, watching her stare off into distance. "Does she go into a coma even if it's not in front of her?"

Souta heaved a great, big sigh. "Once, Grandpa was telling us about this Odin guy from some mythology book or something and she heard him wrong and we couldn't get through to her for an hour—"

"Lies," whined Kagome, though her eyes were still slightly glazed over. "It's not my fault Mama makes it with heroin."

Miroku, apparently, couldn't seem to help it. He offered her a heated look, then bent down to casually whisper in her ear, under the guise of readjusting the cushions, "There are more addictive things in life, you know."

Turning scarlet (because she _believed_ him), Kagome tried to hit Miroku with a small but heavy decorative pillow, except he ducked in time, and it smacked into Souta's back. Souta stumbled, confused and caught off guard, then spun on his heel.

"What'd you do that for?" he cried, shaking his little fist dramatically.

"Sorry! It wasn't meant to h—"

"She was aiming for your head," said Miroku wickedly.

Souta wrinkled his nose, then, to Kagome's horror, exchanged a particularly scheming glance with Miroku.

Kagome was barely allowed a second to contemplate thwarting their plan before they pounced. Soon, she was being tickled and smothered and was shrieking with pure, unadulterated glee, pulling on Souta's hair and commanding Miroku to save her, until he turned on her, too, the traitor, and toppled her over onto the floor and—

"Neee, I cooked for hours and no one seems interested in eating," wailed Kagome's grandfather miserably, hovering over the tangle of limbs on the carpet. "Such ungrateful children."

Out of breath, Kagome helped both boys up, straightening their shirts automatically. "You don't cook, Grandpa."

"Well, I watched your mother cook for hours, and the legend goes—"

"Humble apologies, Higurashi-jii-chan," said Miroku, bowing. "Your granddaughter was having another seizure, and Souta-chan and I felt compelled to provide proper care."

Kagome tried not to smack him with the nearest blunt, untraceable object. "By trying to asphyxiate me—?"

"And see? She's all better now, foaming at the mouth and everything," added Souta proudly, disappearing into the kitchen and blowing a victorious raspberry over his shoulder.

She wouldn't realize it until much later, but Miroku and Souta seemed intent on distracting her from everything (Naraku, Naraku, Naraku), so she _let_ them.

Because she felt she didn't have long. Because she felt as though she'd been living on borrowed time ever since she woke up. Because she felt as though she didn't belong _anywhere_, with _anyone_.

The mark (scar, injury, proof of ownership?) on her back was itching ominously.

_Stop_. _Thinking_.

"So, are you two sure you're ready?" asked Mrs. Higurashi later, once Kagome was finished ogling her empty bowl.

"Ready for—?" began Kagome, then immediately paled in horror. Her mother wasn't—couldn't possibly—be talking about... about... having se—

"—nals," Miroku was saying, demonstrating with his chopsticks. "Most of them are a month away, so, yes."

Oh. Oh! They were talking about finals.

Guiltily, Kagome began clearing the table with Souta, wondering if this, too, was Naraku's fault. This stupid feeling of wanting Miroku to—to... what?

With a mixture of disgust and embarrassment, she continued gathering the soup plates, listening to the conversation.

"—and as long as she goes through my notes, she'll be fine," finished Miroku, winking charmingly. Then, to Kagome's surprise, he turned his head slightly in her direction. "The main thing, of course, is to show up."

Kagome flinched and, quite inadvertently, looked to her mother for help.

Mrs. Higurashi's eyes widened imperceptibly and her lips parted and Kagome _knew_. Kagome knew she'd figured it out.

_Sorry_, _mama_. _Didn't_ _want_ _to_ _say_ _goodbye_ _so_ _soon_, _but_—

"Well, now," said Mrs. Higurashi, trying to gather her bearings. "I suppose there are more important things than final exams. And that—that's not—not... It's understandable. To me."

Kagome averted her eyes.

Miroku frowned, turning around suspiciously.

"Well!" said Kagome loudly, clapping her hands. "Time to tuck Souta in! Let's go, mister."

Souta gave her three, very rapid, blinks. "What the—"

"No one minds if I do it, right?" said Kagome enthusiastically, grabbing her little brother's hand, and dragging him down the hallway before anyone could protest the sudden change of topic.

Finally, once they'd reached Souta's room, Kagome apologized. "I'm sorry. I know you're too old to be tucked in, but—"

"It's okay," said Souta with a shrug, then quickly brushed his teeth and bounced off to bed.

Kagome blinked.

"Er... okay."

Wow. It'd... been a while since she'd done this.

"So..." she began slowly, as Souta found a comfortable position. "Um. What's... new?"

_Oh_, _God_, _how_ _lame_ _was_ _that_?

"Well," chirped Souta excitedly, "I found out I was ranked first in pretty much all of my classes and then one of my friends got a new bike yesterday and we got lost a kilometer from school and then we saw this stupid girl with her stupid pigtails and my friend said something to her and then she slapped him and she looked like she was going to slap me, too, and... um, this must be really boring to you. I'm sorry."

Kagome's chest tightened. "It's not boring. Why—why would you think that?"

Souta squirmed sheepishly. "Well, because your life is so cool and, well..."

"Souta," whispered Kagome, realizing she'd never get a chance to say this again. "Please tell me. Anything. Anything you feel like talking about."

"Uh..."

"Anything," she repeated, fluffing up his doggy-themed comforter. "You can talk about anything. I just want to listen for a while, that's all."

Souta's grin threatened to split his face in half. "Really?"

"Really," said Kagome enthusiastically, riffling through his toy chest. Finally, she located what she'd been looking for—a ratty old Samurai plushie he'd won at a street fair years ago—and placed it next to Souta's head.

"Nee-chan, I'm too old for—" he began, embarrassed, then trailed off, curling up with the plushie and reddening sheepishly. "So, anyway," he began hastily, fighting a blush. "You said anything, right?"

Kagome nodded happily. "Anything. Except—"

"Supersonic Lobsterman From Outer Space."

Kagome groaned.

Souta ignored her, sitting up in his bed with a crazed look in his eyes. "Last week," he began, hyper and giddy and squeezing his plushie to death, "Riceman tried to kill Lobsterman again—grr, I hate that guy—but Lobsterman and his friends stopped him and then Lobsterman tried to save Sailor One but _Snakewoman_ showed up!"

Kagome bit her lip to keep from giggling. "And then what happened?"

Souta seemed ready to burst. "And then Riceman turned into some kind of a tree thing—I don't know, Sailor One was being shiny—and I thought, 'No way is Lobsterman EVER going to kick Riceman's butt _now_!' but he did!"

Kagome nodded, trying to stuff Souta back into his comforter. "And how'd he do that?"

Souta kicked off his covers again. "Well, see, because they couldn't get anywhere near Riceman without getting hurt, they figured they had to do long-range stuff, like... well, they had Geekboy come up with this DNA chemical thing—I think it was some kind of poison?—and then they shot it into Riceman and he exploded and now he's finally GONE!"

Kagome scrunched up her face. "Cheap cop-out."

Souta shrugged happily. "It doesn't always have to be some great big drama thing. That's so un-20th century."

"That's not a word," said Kagome, pushing Souta back onto his pillow.

"Is, too," grumbled Souta with a pout.

"Is n—" began Kagome, then froze.

_Oh_, _God_.

"I have to be the biggest idiot, ever," she gasped, covering her mouth. "Souta, you're a genius!"

Souta blinked. "Eh?"

Kagome stood up quickly, kissed her little brother's forehead, then bolted for the door. "Thank you! I love you and—and please, help mama when she needs it and try to listen to Grandpa even if he gives you a mummy's hand for your fifteenth birthday and don't have too much candy!"

"Nee-chan, what—" began Souta frantically, but Kagome was already running down the hallway.

_Un_-_20th_ _century_.

She almost broke down in hysterics.

Could it really be that simple?

"Jii-chan!" she shouted, skidding to a stop.

Grandpa jumped up in his ratty old chair, startled. His cards scattered across the table as he turned his head to blink at Kagome.

Kagome hugged him quickly. "Don't let Buyo get too fat."

"Kagome, what—"

Abruptly, Kagome reached for Miroku's hand (Miroku blinked at her dazedly, still holding up his cards for inspection), and pulled him up, trying to ignore the urge to run into the kitchen and cry on her mother's shoulder. "Come on!"

And then, Miroku was—thankfully—out of his seat and running after her. "_Kagome_! What—"

But Kagome didn't stop, didn't pause for oxygen, didn't reply. She kept running and running, until she was outside, in the moonlight, twelve and a half steps away from the well. She caught her breath then, and smiled brightly at Miroku and even though her heart felt so heavy and so broken, she said, "I know what to do."

Miroku was still catching his breath. "About?"

"Naraku."

Miroku's features darkened. "Right."

"No, really," said Kagome, dragging him inside. The well was skulking in the shadows before them. "I think I know what to try. I was talking to Souta and I realized—if I can talk Kikyou into helping us with this, we can use a—"

"Kagome," interrupted Miroku, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "I know. I've heard this speech twice now."

Kagome's throat went dry. Then, inexplicably enraged, she shouted, "And you didn't TELL me before? Do you know how much TIME you could have saved m—"

Miroku scowled. "Kagome, how many times do I have to tell you? You. Can't. Change. It. Neither can I."

Kagome's features softened, her anger evaporating immediately.

How hard?

How hard had it been for him? How hard was it to keep quiet about this when—

"Miroku," she began, steeling her resolve. "Please, if you could, tell Yuka and Erri that I'm thankful for everything they've ever done for me. And tell Ayumi I'll always remember that field she showed me when we were five. And please, if possible, tell Hojou-kun—"

Later, Kagome would wonder if she'd ever seen Miroku—in any time period—_this_ angry.

"It won't _work_, Kagome," he gritted out. "He's going to know. He always knows everything. He's probably _still_ alive somewhere. He—"

_Don't_ _think_, _don't_ _think_, _don't_ _think_.

Frantic, Kagome pleaded with him. "Miroku—"

"I'm not letting you say goodbye," he said.

Kagome froze.

"Inuyasha can't find the jewel shards without me," she began reasonably, though every cell in her body was trembling. "And when he makes the wish, the Shikon will disappear and I—I won't be able to come back."

Miroku growled angrily. "So leave _before_ he makes it!"

Kagome balled up her fists. "You should know better than anyone that I won't be able to! Unless I take the jewel with me, I won't be able to pass through the well. You _know_ that."

Miroku flinched. "Actually, I don't."

Kagome covered her mouth, biting back a gasp.

_No_.

He'd... died before that.

When? Next week? Tomorrow?

_Yesterday_?

Deciding she couldn't be deterred now, Kagome carried on, pondering on devising a variation of the truth, a shabby cut and paste of the original, but she was finally being honest with herself, so why not include Miroku in this little epiphany?

"Even if I can't—" she began shakily. "This is _wrong_," she said, indicating at herself, then him. "I wasn't supposed to... Miroku, there has to be a reason you remember. And I've deluded myself into thinking it's got something to do with me, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I'm just being really, really stupid and self-centered."

Miroku was watching her with an undecipherable look.

"And now that I have some semblance of a plan, I have to—I... I can actually _help_ for once. I can make a difference. _Here_, I'm one out of ten million, practically identical, girls, but _there_—"

And suddenly, there was the ceiling, straight above her, heavily textured and dirty brown and she was on the ground, on her back that hurt because a large pebble was digging onto her flesh, sharp and dangerous and Miroku's hips were too close and—

"I've waited _longer_, Kagome," he ground out, pinning her hands above her head. "And I _know_ you love me. Because you have to."

Kagome froze.

She'd been consistently skirting around that dismaying little word, but—

"Miroku," she began softly. "I—"

"—_know_," he said angrily. "And you don't get a choice. I never did."

Broken and afraid and strangely elated, Kagome pushed him off and moved away.

He... _loved_ her?

No.

"You're only saying that because you've probably felt alone and out of place here," she said slowly, fumbling for justification. She had to—she had to make him understand. It would be easier for her to leave and better for him because there was no way someone like Miroku would _ever_—

"What are you talking about?" he asked, frowning.

"If it were anyone else—if Sango were reincarnated, if Koharu... hell, even if Kagura were here and could remember the same things you could remember, you'd feel an affinity for her, too. It's normal, Miroku-sama."

The honorific felt oddly foreign on her tongue now.

"What?" mumbled Miroku darkly.

Kagome rose. She had to tell him. She had to tell him before she allowed this little moment of concentration to be broken, shattered into millions of what ifs. "I want you to be happy, Miroku-sama. I want _all_ my friends to be happy."

"Friends?" he asked furiously.

Kagome took a step back toward the well. She had to stop stalling.

And he—he had to understand. He had to—

Kiss her.

"You don't know anything yet, do you?" he groaned against her lips and his breath was hot and burning her cheeks, angry and helpless and not really there.

She winced then, and she tried to get away, honest she did, but she was suddenly very tired—it'd been a long lifetime—so she pried him off her because her mother was right.

People _didn't_ think in situations like these.

But Kagome had to.

So, she would.

"I know enough," she began, but his eyes—so blue and human—stopped her dead.

There was no thought in her head, no sound for a minute, and for that long moment, she held her breath until he arranged his features into a stubborn expression.

"I'm coming with you," he mumbled.

Kagome's eyes widened. "What?"

"I told you. I can't let—"

But Kagome shook her head. "I don't even know if that's possible and—and you said it yourself. You can't change it."

And there they were, standing in the dark, looking at each other, having been left neither here nor there—not up, not down—lodged between two layers of middle ground.

"You're _Kagome_," he said finally.

Kagome glanced up at him, startled.

"Don't—don't repeat Kikyou's mistake. Don't fall for Naraku's tricks. You're _not_ 'one out of ten million identical girls,' Kagome," he said and kept his distance, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "And I bet if anyone could break a paradox, it'd be you."

Kagome could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and felt as though all her foundations were stripped away and her walls were standing bare and unsupported and—

She couldn't say goodbye to him.

So, she buttoned up her pajama top completely and—

Was gone.

And as she hung suspended between two very different worlds, in a well that was quickly becoming an enemy—Kagome smiled.

Such a wonderful moment of clarity, it was.

She wasn't. She wasn't going to repeat anyone's mistakes. She wouldn't indulge an identity crisis.

Because—because she had her _own_ feelings, her own memories, her own plans.

She loved whom she _wanted_ to love, not whom she was _supposed_ to.

She wasn't identical to _anyone_.

She was _Kagome_, and she was going to prove it.


	11. Lost

**Updated December 14, 2003** to comply with FFN's newest rule, stating we're not allowed to post chapters that consist of only author's notes.

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**Author's** **Notes**: It's not _all_ about the smut, you know.

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I am, of course, not serious.

There'll be a link.

**Disclaimer**: I have no intention of breaking FFN's rules or having my account suspended again, so, if you're old enough, follow the link when you get to it. Actually, I recommend you don't. Especially if you're easily squicked, or just prefer your Miroku not naked and evil.

In case you do skip the NC-17 parts of this chapter, rest assured—you won't be missing much. Just assume Miroku and Kagome got into an argument, and then... erm, talked. All night. And then they ran into some trouble, fixed it, and talked some more.

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**_Chapter_**_ **Nine**: **Lost**_

_The great thought, the great concern,_

_the great anxiety of men is to restrict,_

_as much as possible, the limits_

_of their own responsibility_.

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He was developing a relatively unhealthy habit.

Watching over the well at night.

And his mind was going in circles. For three days, he'd felt disconnected from reality. Little white lies were becoming his expertise. He'd lied to Inuyasha, told him they'd been attacked. Lied to him, with a child's face, innocent and lost, and then watched the hanyou carry her away, perhaps forever.

He'd made a deal with the devil, he knew.

For the thousandth time, Miroku wondered. Wondered _why_ he'd done it, _why_ he'd let Naraku manipulate him. Wondered why he was seeing shadows that weren't there; shadows and remnants of that night, with their arbitrary memories and consequences. Even the godless among men would eventually pause to wonder, and Miroku...

Miroku wondered how it would feel.

He wondered how it would feel to die, to not exist anymore, to be forgotten and inconsequential. It was petty and childish, this greed, this desire to see the world through its changes, to go to sleep every night and wake up every morning and just _live_.

It was selfish to crave it, but it was simple human curiosity. And Naraku had stripped him of his buffers, tore them away, piece by piece. He'd shown him life, then took it away.

So, Miroku had said yes. He'd given the demon consent to do anything—anything it took—to bring Kagome back, to keep her alive, to keep her safe.

And he realized now, as he rested against an old oak, staring at the silent well, that she was going to _hate_ him.

But she'd done this to him.

She'd ruined him, given him hope, triggered that impulse that had been dormant or dead or nonexistent before he'd had to wipe the blood from her dying face, before he'd cradled her in his lap, before he'd shouted at that bastard until his voice (and moral principles) cracked.

And now he was scared. Scared of death—of dying, of seeing _her_ die. That old sense of panic—of not having enough time, of not having enough of _anything_—was suffocating him and making him so incredibly, dangerously angry.

He was angry.

Because he wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

The kazaana was eager. Miroku could feel it pinching at his skin, taunting him as his father's voice resonated in his head.

..._when_ _the_ _day_ _comes_, _Miroku_...

..._all_ _you_ _have_ _to_ _do is_...

..._close_ _your_ _eyes_...

..._and_...

Miroku's eyes shot open.

A twig snapped somewhere to his left. Lightning-quick, Miroku jumped to his feet, gripping his staff. Carefully, he approached the well, peered down into its thick darkness, then let out a breath.

"Hachi."

The tanuki grinned sheepishly. "Miroku no danna."

"What are you doing here?" asked Miroku, perching himself on the well's lip.

"I've been looking for you, actually," said Hachi warily. "There are rumors spreading throughout the lands. Of N-Naraku."

Miroku narrowed his eyes abruptly. "Such as?"

Hachi cowered slightly, bringing one pudgy arm over his head. "Miroku no danna, I do not wish to offend."

Haughtily, Miroku waved a dismissive hand. "You won't. Speak freely."

Hachi took a deep breath. "Rumor has it you and your companions were defeated by Naraku, yet you... are here before me and..."

With a frustrated sigh, Miroku rubbed the back of his neck. "You think I switched sides."

Hachi coughed. "Hearsay, I see."

_Was_ it?

Wasn't Miroku indebted to Naraku now? Hadn't be promised him, through gritted teeth, that Inuyasha would _never_ have Kagome? Hadn't he agreed to compensate the demon? To turn over the shards once Kagome returned? Hadn't he been willing to do _anything_ barely three nights ago?

But why?

What could Naraku possibly gain by keeping Kagome alive? By keeping _Miroku_ alive?

"Hachi," said Miroku contemplatively. "Would you question a sudden blessing if its attainment were relatively effortless?"

The tanuki seemed confused. "Miroku no da—"

"Just answer me."

"I don't cknow, Miroku no danna," said Hachi, his furry brow crinkling thoughtfully. "I wouldn't think the methods mattered."

Miroku tilted his head imperceptibly. "What would?"

Hachi's snout twitched abruptly, as though he was happy he'd come up with an appropriate response. "The motive behind the methods."

Miroku was taken aback for a moment. _His_ motive was clear, but... "What about the consequences, Hachi?"

Hachi shrugged, clawing at the weeds growing between the stones. "What about them?"

Miroku chuckled lightly. "You certainly have an interesting approach to life."

Hachi grinned merrily. "Well, it's not like I'll get to live it again!"

Blinking, Miroku nodded. "You have a... point there."

Jittery with energy, the tanuki stuck one claw in the air and said, self-importantly, "That's what you taught me, Miroku no danna—er, to an extent."

Miroku raised a bemused eyebrow. "I called you a coward. You consider that positive reinforcement?"

"Well, I'm certainly less cowardly," mused Hachi enthusiastically. "Er... during the day, at least." With a determined look of concentration, he smashed a fist into his palm. "That was my goal, Miroku no danna! To be like you! To take what I want, when I want!"

Startled, Miroku glanced at the tanuki.

When?

When did he stop taking what he wanted, when he wanted?

"And how's that working out for you?" asked Miroku caustically.

Hachi grinned. "Great!" Guilty wince. "How about you, Miroku no danna?"

Miroku watched him for a moment.

Who cared whether it was unfair to Inuyasha? Or Sango? Who cared that Naraku wanted this? _Miroku_ wanted it, too. He wanted Kagome. And hell if he wasn't going to _have_ her. There was no way he was going to die before taking what he wanted. There was no way he was going to die before satiating that escalating hunger growing inside him.

Deliberately, he rose, straightened his robes, and said, in a firm, resolute voice, "Thank you, Hachi." He offered the tanuki a polite little bow. "I wonder if you would do me one more favor?"

Hachi cringed, collapsing in on himself. "There's nothing to steal in a seven-village radius."

Miroku grinned. "Tempting offer, but I had something else in mind. I need to find Inuyasha. He's been in and out of Kaede-sama's village, and it is imperative I find him. Tonight."

_And make him bring Kagome back_.

Hachi gave him an odd look, then shrugged his furry shoulders. "Hop on," he said, plopping into nonexistence for a moment, and transforming into an inflated blimp the next.

Miroku's staff was already poking into Hachi's stretched torso, when a soft noise brought his attention to the well.

A soft, _familiar_ noise.

"Stupid rust and water and—oh. Hi."

Miroku hopped down, bewildered. "Kagome?"

Kagome!

What was she doing here? What was she _thinking_? What was she—

—_wearing_?

"Pajamas," she gestured uncomfortably, as though she'd read his mind. "I was kinda in a hurry."

Miroku blinked, transfixed with the huge, fluffy... things on her feet. His gaze traveled upwards slowly. Bunnies. She was wearing bunnies. And pants. With silver moons and stars. And a short, silky kimono with... kittens.

Had he really been _lusting_ after her only moments before?

"Kagome," he began, his voice oddly gruff, "what are you doing back so soon? Your injuries—"

"Don't start," she mumbled, holding up a hand in the moonlight. "I know. And I don't care. Nothing hurts, I've moved on, so should you. Now—"

Miroku's eyes widened. How could she possibly know? How could she know those shards around her neck would be in Naraku's hands by morning? And more importantly, how could she not _care_? She'd been marked by _Naraku_ and—

"—listening?"

"I'm sorry," he shook his head to clear it of thought. "I... just... you..."

Kagome smiled, pointing at the well over her shoulder. "Should I come back when you've had some caffeine? And a nap?"

Miroku forgot Naraku ever existed.

"I was about to go find Inuyasha," he said, a strange sort of cheerfulness creeping into his voice. "So he could check if you were well enough to return. Which you are."

Kagome nodded lightly, dusting off her silly little bunnies. "Really? And where is he? Hopefully being nice to Kikyou?"

Miroku gaped. "Er..."

"He _better_ be," she said, shaking her fist theatrically. "And Sango-chan? Shippou-chan?"

Stunned, Miroku gestured vaguely behind him. "Sango decided to visit with Kuranosuke-sama after you... left. Shippou went with her. Apparently, he was hungry."

Kagome flushed, gaze falling to the ground. "Oh. Kuranosuke-sama. Oh."

A small smile crept to his lips. "You said it yourself, Kagome. She's going to be happy."

Kagome looked up, beaming. "She will if _I_ have anything to do with it. And also, that's no good! She can't stay there with that crazy guy. I need everyone to be in the same place, because I have a plan that we need to go over, and hey, what's Hachi-san doing here?"

Miroku blinked, having forgotten all about his faithful tanuki, plainly distracted by the mounting excitement Kagome's presence invoked. Because he'd decided, the moment she'd climbed out of that helpful little well. He'd decided—

He was going to have her.

_Now_.

"Miroku no danna," asked Hachi guilelessly, "is Kagome-sama the motive, or the consequence?"

Miroku grinned evilly, and said instead, "Hachi. Remember that favor I asked for? I have a slight modification to your route."

Kagome blinked. "Hey, what—"

Hachi fluttered in the breeze. "Where to?"

"Away from here. Anywhere," said Miroku quickly, reaching for Kagome, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and pulling her onto Hachi.

Soon, they were gliding through the night sky, staring at each other; Kagome warily, Miroku with immense interest.

"Miroku," warned Kagome. "This is serious." Her features softened. "I—my family—"

"Ka-go-me," he murmured, trying to keep his distance. "We can talk later."

"Later?" she frowned. "Did you not hear me when I said I was in a hurry to get here and—"

"Hachi, _here_ is fine!" shouted Miroku.

Kagome sighed deeply, thumbs and forefingers creating an imaginary headline. "Monk Found Strangled to Death. No jury in the world will convict me."

Slowly, Hachi descended, flattening against the ground and waiting patiently for his cargo to hop off. Once they did, he shot Miroku a questioning glance—Miroku nodded—and with a crackly _poof_, the tanuki was gone.

And Miroku and Kagome were...

...alone.

"Um," fidgeted Kagome, clearly comprehending there was something different about the way Miroku was looking at her. "So, that plan I—"

Miroku kissed her.

He didn't want to _use_ her. He didn't. But the past three days had made him very irrational and temperamental and she was just. Asking. For. It. By simply existing.

"Miro-kun," she mumbled, "I—we have to—mhmmm—work on the details—"

Miroku slipped a hand under her little kimono. "You shouldn't concern yourself with those at the moment."

Kagome bit his lip, and pried him off her. "Don't tell me what to do."

Miroku blinked.

Kagome crossed her arms, stuck out her chin, and turned her back to him, facing a large tree.

Miroku watched her for a long moment, distracted by the curve of her shoulder, the stretch of skin, the outline of her breasts.

And then he just lost it.

Roughly, he brought an arm around her shoulders, pressing her against the tree, and murmured, "I told you not to concern yourself with the details, Kagome."

"Mi—"

He backed her up against the tree, crushing his hips to her ass. "You came back," he said, placing one hand on the tree bark for leverage, while his other hand wrapped around the shard dangling from her neck. "And you don't _care_," he murmured, tugging at the thin silver chain until it snapped. "So. I propose we finish what we started three days ago. Several times, if you don't mind."

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Rest at:

http:// chasingmethuselah11. blogspot. com/


	12. Line

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Author's **Notes**: For the... three of you that skipped last chapter... um. Aliens invaded Poland, and Miroku died. Surprise!

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Miroku: Ah, but what a lovely death it was.

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Kagome: ..._concentrate_, Miroku-sama, please.

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Miroku: You know only one thing helps my concentration. So. Why are your clothes still on?

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Kagome: ...I—I demand a gratuitous death scene!

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Plot: Squee, squee, _squee_!

****

Author: I hate you. You promised me _babies_.

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Almost there, folks.

And please, don't go, "OMFG, ze maddening confusion, she buuurns!" until _next_ chapter, yes? ^_^;

Also, Merry Christmas! Where's my freakin' yacht?

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**__**

Chapter **Ten**: **The** **Finish Line**

All stories, if continued far enough, end in death,

and he is no true storyteller who would keep that from you.

—Ernest Hemingway

.

.

.

Her heart was full.

And she'd had this dream.

In her dream, _she's_ _waiting_.

In her dream, _he_ _says_, '_I'm_ _going_ _now_.'

In her dream, _she_ _kisses_ _him_ _and_ _melts_ _into_ _him_ _and_ _whispers_, '_I_ _want_ _to_ _go_, _too_.'

And in her dream, _he_ _smiles at her_ _and_ _says_, '_Okay_.'

But outside this warm dream, Kagome had woken up, ready to start their future together.

He'd been sleeping, half on top of her, his limbs tangled with hers, thick, dark lashes resting peacefully against his flushed cheeks and she'd _melted_.

Was _still_ melting.

Happily, Higurashi Kagome paused, her lungs filling with fresh, crisp air.

The woods around her were thinning and the sky was blue and Inuyasha didn't hate her and life was _pretty_.

She'd been so incredibly... worried only hours earlier, prepared to just stay there with Miroku—stay with him forever—to sleep life away wrapped in the cocoon of his arms, possibly staring at his really shiny earrings.

Except, there'd been this voice in her head.

Stupid little voice of complete and utter doom, chattering away about repercussions and betrayal and lack of good sushi.

But she'd pacified it with a healthy swig of Kaede's berry syrup (possibly illegal in modern times), had kissed Miroku's cheek (sleepy and warm and adorable), and had gone to fulfill her mission of radical usefulness and general... happy goodness.

Vaguely, she could remember her wibbles from a _lifetime_ ago—whining about Gauss' theorema egregium and arc lengths and Euclidean spaces and blah, blah, something, blah, blah, living on borrowed time and not belonging _anywhere_, with _anyone_, but a mental photograph of Miroku—his sleep-mussed hair sticking to her pillow as he reached out a hand to find her even in his sleep—was weighing heavily on her mind.

So.

Kagome wasn't going to angst.

She was going to give Miroku and Inuyasha a few more minutes to settle their differences privately (preferably, _without_ killing each other), and then she was going to be reunited with Shippou-chan and Sango-chan and continue with The Big Happy Plan of Happy Happiness.

Which...

...was going frighteningly well.

She half-expected some spawn of Naraku to barge in on her, holding a helpless bunny at sword-point, and _demand_ she stop being so lucky, because the universe wanted its balance back and damn it, did she mention how _pretty_ life was?

'Cause it was.

'What do you see in him?' Kikyou had asked her barely an hour ago, with an odd, genuine sort of curiosity.

And Kagome had smiled and said, 'Myself.'

__

I see myself.

Her answer must have impressed Kikyou, considering the miko had agreed to help gather the shards and perhaps fight on their side and possibly have lots of sugar once she was... alive again.

Plus—

—no more exams!

__

Ever again!

Absentmindedly, Kagome continued down the burgeoning path, her feet brushing against soft summer blossoms.

And maybe...

..._just_ _maybe_...

...she'd find a way... eventually... to—to visit her family.

Because she hadn't said goodbye—not properly, at least—to any of them. Grandpa was probably still sitting there at his rickety table, dazed and wondering why he couldn't have a _normal_ granddaughter. Souta had... most likely forgotten all about her within an hour, obsessing over his sphere grids and weapon upgrades and zombies.

__

No, she thought with a smile.

Souta was missing her. Like she missed him.

And mama.

And Kazuo.

Kagome shook her head firmly.

No. _Happy_,_ remember_? Happy and—

She gave a soft whine. 

A pebble had snuck into her shoe, obviously intent on ruining her happy happy mood.

Kagome leaned against a tree, staring at the small field of dandelions ahead, and untied her shoelace, devising a flawless strategy befitting a genius as profound as hers.

Objective One: Get rid of annoying pebble!

Objective Two: Find Sesshoumaru-sama.

Kagome paused thoughtfully, the soft grass beneath her feet fading into dusty gravel.

She wondered. She wondered _how_ exactly the Tensaiga worked. Did it repair tissue, and if so, _how_? Did it always need a body or could it slice through worlds and time and bring back the _soul_? Did it reverse brain damage from oxygen deprivation, did it restore blood cells, did it... okay, _shut up_.

Magic.

Everything in Sengoku Jidai was _magic_.

And the Tensaiga was certainly a legendary weapon; a part of this Sengoku Jidai—it was magic and _everything_ was possible.

Except maybe electricity.

And as she retied her shoelace, Kagome giggled, pressing her face against the warm texture of her sleeve.

__

And Shippou.

She wondered what _he_ would think, or, more importantly, say, once his pocky-induced, diabetic coma wore off. Because... she'd have to ply him with a maniacal amount of sugar before he accepted the fact that he couldn't—couldn't... um...

'You'll have to tell Shippou to reconsider his sleeping schedule, Kagome,' Miroku had murmured to her last night.

'Eh?' she'd replied so very eloquently, trying to fend him off.

'You wouldn't want him to... stumble across a horribly inappropriate scene, would you?'

And Kagome had giggled and disappeared under the comforter with a delighted little blush, offering a muffled, 'Good thing we'll never... do... this again, then.'

'Ah. Me and my foolish questions—' he'd grinned, diving under the coverlet and trailing tiny kisses up her arm.

'—sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G...' she'd replied, questioning her sanity.

Because she must have been insane to have let that vile, depraved, deranged... wonderful, amazing—_concentrate_, _Kagome_!—monk do... um, well... _things_ to her. Things he would never, ever, _ever_! be allowed to do to her again, hff!

__

Although...

Kagome turned fifty-seven shades of red, each deeper than the last.

Hopefully, Miroku wouldn't be trying... _that_ again. After all, Inuyasha was with them now and—

—that hadn't stopped the evil monk before, had it?

Blushing furiously, Kagome tried to bite back a pleasantly embarrassed giggle.

__

Insane.

This whole... thing was insane.

Kagome had absolutely _no_ idea how she'd gone from a relatively martyr-y 'I will save Miroku-sama and let [insert more deserving person here] have him!' to...

'Mine, mine, _mine_!'

Clearly, it was all _Miroku's_ fault.

For he was evil and cute and hff, she'd given up electricity, Coconut-Extract Body Wash With Extra Bubbles, _and_ ODENto be here, so—so it... was... only fair.

Kagome flinched.

No.

It _wasn't_.

Sango needed Miroku. She needed someone who'd _be_ there for her, ten years from now, sitting around the fire, laughing, possibly chiding Shippou and Kohaku for stealing his shakujo to go fishing—

Sango needed happiness.

And she would... would have it with Miroku.

And just because Kagome had... been with Miroku didn't mean she had to... stay with him. Because—because... her life had been easy and normal and she hadn't had to watch her family die and... really, Sango and Koharu were more suitable for him.

Either of them would be happy with, say, that herd of children Miroku probably wanted. Herd of children Kagome was too young and too terrified to give him.

A small smile was tugging at her lips. 

She knew, with almost absolute certainty, that he would be one of _those_ fathers. One of those goofy man-babies that spoiled his children rotten, that invested in shotguns (eheh, well, once they were actually invented and introduced to Japan), to keep the evil scum [they once were] off his daughters and—

How come she never pictured Inuyasha ten years from now?

And how come Sango and Koharu were automatically replaced in her head with someone less Sango and Koharu and more... _Kagome_?

Kagome shook her head, kicking at a pebble.

She couldn't.

She couldn't give him up.

Not now, not ever. She'd always shared Inuyasha with Kikyou and had _never_ asked for, or wanted, anything for herself, but...

__

Miroku.

Something within Kagome's chest loosened most pleasantly.

And...

And besides! Sango might actually fall (truly, madly, deeply) in love with that Takeda guy—and—and Koharu was _fourteen_! What did she know about love?

__

You're fifteen.

"Almost sixteen," grumbled Kagome, glaring at an offending squirrel.

__

And he didn't say he loved you.

"Shut up," said Kagome, shaking her fist sulkily.

The squirrel smacked its tail onto a pile of wet leaves as if to say, "_You_ shut up."

Kagome giggled.

Fine, so he hadn't—hadn't exactly... said he... loved her or anything, but!

Plans. He wanted to make plans.

And that was enough for Kagome.

Speaking of plans...

Aside from trying to hunt down Sesshoumaru and, consequently, Kohaku, they'd—

—have to go see Kouga, as well.

Kagome paused, blushing.

("Hello, Kouga. Have you met _my_ woman yet? She wears purple panties."

"What the hell are you talking about, monk?"

"Or rather, _doesn't_ wear them. Look how well they fit my robes. Pretty!"

__

Kaboom!)

Okay, so... no.

Miroku would—would have to stay home with Shippou and Sango, yes. Inuyasha alone should suffice for—

("Yo, wimpy wolf!"

"Dog turd?"

"The monk has Kagome's panties."

__

KABOOM!)

Giggling, Kagome bent down to pick a silvery dandelion.

Perhaps she would have to go _alone_.

Slowly, she looked up with a wide, happy smile.

Which immediately vanished.

"Playing by yourself, little girl?" asked a voice.

Kagome scrambled up, the dandelion dropping from her hand.

And into Naraku's.

"Looking for something?" he asked casually, inspecting the stem as though it were a jewel shard.

Kagome blinked, throat suddenly dry.

The shards. _Why_ _couldn't_ _I_ _feel_ _the_ shards?

Naraku—_Naraku_!—was sitting in front of her, unimpeded by any of his minions or puppets, his long, skinny fingers twined regally, back hunched, knees drawn.

Kagome took an involuntary step back.

She was going to scream for Inuyasha or Miroku, but Naraku rose and sidled up next to her with a sinuous sort of mien, so she just stopped breathing instead.

"_Are_ you?" he murmured, crushing the dandelion, its feathery seeds lingering around his fist.

"Am I—am I what?" she asked, looking for an escape route, her pulse racing.

"Looking for something?" 

A storm of silky, pink petals seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"Help, perchance?" suggested Naraku breezily. "Or perhaps, me?"

"N-no."

__

Okay. Miroku and Inuyasha couldn't be _too_ far. If she just stalled for a few minutes—

"Let me see it."

Kagome froze.

Naraku tilted his head undiscernibly, a soft petal drifting past his face, swept up by his long, black hair.

"Let me see the scar," he repeated and then suddenly, a sharp claw—strangely familiar—was swiping across her back, parting her white miko robes.

__

Move, stupid—run, _do_ something.

But Kagome did nothing.

"You don't wonder why?" asked Naraku silkily, trailing the spidery contours upon her skin.

A strong scent—the pungency and clay of the miasma—assaulted Kagome's senses, fixing her to her spot among the golden dandelions.

"No," she lied, heart pounding.

"He _wanted_ it," said Naraku, circling her slowly.

Kagome shook her head, balling up her fists. "Doesn't matter."

"I suppose not," he agreed, humming. "But I held up my end of the bargain," he smirked. "And now, you're holding up his."

He reached for a drifting petal.

"Ask," he sang wryly. "I know you want to."

Startled by her impulsive audacity, Kagome straightened. "I don't want to."

"Liar," sneered Naraku. "_Ask_."

The scar on her back pulsed. 

Kagome winced.

"Ask."

"No."

A sharp pain sliced up her spine.

"_No_," she breathed.

A petal brushed her cheek, tangling itself with one of her dark curls.

Naraku smiled amusedly. "You don't want to know what your part of the bargain is? What he promised in return?"

"No."

A stinging ache coiled around her waist, traveling up.

"I'd rather not hurt you," murmured Naraku slowly, voice laced with malicious promise. "Again."

Kagome cried out, the small of her back practically ablaze.

"What—" she groaned, relearning how to breathe. "What do you want?"

Naraku sighed dramatically. "Rephrase."

Tears trembling in the corners of her eyes, Kagome flinched. "What do you want? _Please_."

Naraku seemed pleased.

"I could tell you," he smirked softly, keeping his distance. "I could tell you," he drifted closer, closer, "everything."

A petal slipped from between his fingers and landed before her feet.

"So tell me," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

Naraku, alone and _real_, bore his eyes into hers. "I could not tell you anything you don't already know."

For a moment, Kagome's fear turned to anger.

She didn't _know_ anything. She never had, and, obviously, she never would. Why did everyone think she could just remember and know and _see_ as though she were—

A small gasp of surprise escaped her parted lips.

"I'm not Kikyou," said a strong, confident voice.

Kagome was startled to find the words coming from her own mouth.

"No," agreed Naraku, sinking onto the ground with a slow, familiar grace that wasn't entirely as ethereal as she remembered. "No, you're not," he continued, in a deep, low voice. "She chooses the dog, always. You... don't."

Kagome found herself slumping to the ground, resting against the cold dirt and facing Naraku.

She _chooses_, always? 

You _don't_?

Why? Why did that sound so... _not_ final?

"And I find it... gratifying to know you've cast the dog aside for _my_ flesh and blood this time."

Kagome's eyes widened in horror.

__

Oh, God. 

The words kept repeating themselves in her head.

__

This _time_. _My_ _flesh_ _and_ _blood_. _She_. _You_.

"Why?" she murmured finally, trembling with every inch of her borrowed soul. "Why would you do that to him?"

Naraku was watching her unemotionally. "I've inflicted worse on myself." He seemed to be contemplating something, then slowly stood up, hovering over her. "He doesn't know."

Eyes burning, Kagome fought back her anger and tears and despair. "Why do _I_ know?" she asked quietly.

A thin branch slashed through the air, cutting through Kagome's robes and slicing at her chest.

The spider mark on her back pulsed, tearing into her spine and making her arch upwards in pain.

"I don't want to know," she rasped, clawing at the cold, hard ground. "I don't—please—"

The scar pulsed again.

A gossamer-thin remnant of a memory flickered before her eyes.

__

Onigumo. _Another man_. _A woman_. _Fifty years ago_.

"She didn't love you," whimpered Kagome, clinging to the ground, her whole body burning and aching and tottering on the edge of a familiar precipice. "She never loved you! And he didn't—he didn't want to—he didn't want a son—didn't want him to suffer—wanted to end it—"

A pained, furious scream tore itself from her lips.

__

Daichi. _His_ _name_ _was_ _Daichi_.

Panting, Kagome looked up, her bangs matted to her forehead. "Miroku's grandfather," she exhaled harshly, tears trembling in the corners of her eyes. "He was happy with her." Deep, enraged inhale. "He was happy with Hotaru. He didn't need more."

Naraku hummed wistfully, though his eyes were peculiarly distant. "It was never about _his_ happiness," he said, expression neutral. "And _she_ never knew the difference, did she?"

Kagome choked on a sob.

__

Naraku,_ this time_. _Cloaked and masked and charming_. _Lowering her onto the soft blue grass_. _Telling her what to name the child_.

Helplessly, Kagome shook her head, holding her breath and tasting betrayal on her tongue. "She never knew."

Naraku bent over her, cupping her chin. "It's funny how life is a string of coincidences, isn't it?"

Dazedly, Kagome was aware of a rustle of cloth and a flash of black and then, Naraku was watching her, barely an inch away from her face.

"Funny how Onigumo saw them both first," he murmured.

__

Onigumo, _traveling_ _with_ _Daichi_.

"Funny how he could never finish them off."

A soft caress. 

__

Onigumo _and_ _Daichi_, _stumbling_ _across_ _a_ _young_ _Hotaru_.

"Funny how I keep having to clean up his messes."

__

Daichi, _asking_ _for_ _help_. _Onigumo_, _touching_ _Hotaru_. _Onigumo_ _and_ _Daichi_, _fighting_. _Onigumo_, _consumed_ _by_ _fire_.

"Funny how these memories won't go away."

A sharp pain down her back.

__

Kikyou, _finding_ _Onigumo_, _caring_ _for_ _him_. _Onigumo_, _offering_ _himself_ _to_ _demons_.

"Funny how I need them to go away."

__

Naraku—_Daichi_—_kazaana_—_Kikyou_—_Inuyasha_—_blood_—_arrow_—

"Naraku," whispered Kagome brokenly, "who am I? _What_ am I?"

"Recycled soul," came an icy, smooth whisper. Naraku drew his face even with hers. "That's all you are. You're nobody. You might have been one of them before, might not, but you're nobody now."

Kagome shook her head, refusing to listen to him. "It doesn't—it doesn't matter who I was before," she said, more to herself than him, her voice lacking the conviction she'd felt only yesterday. "It matters who I am today."

Naraku's lips curled in satisfaction. "Not quite," he said, withdrawing. "It matters what you'll _become_. What _I'll_ become. With your help."

Kagome's eyes widened.

"Ah," came Naraku's voice. A petal drifted onto her lap. "Have you remembered it all now?"

There was—there was this feeling inside her, these... emotions, lingering within her heart like frightened, unsure children, like last anchors in a crumbling reality, like...

"Was that all you wanted from them?" she asked, strengthened by an odd sort of relief rushing to her heart.

These...

...these weren't _her_ memories.

None of them.

"Power? Kikyou's power? Hotaru's power?"

Naraku cocked his head as though he was seriously contemplating her question, and for a moment, Kagome's heart reached out to him, to that piece of him that was so intrinsically connected to Miroku.

"Of course," was all he said. He glanced at her warmly, then added, "Third time's the charm."

But Kagome wasn't listening. "You could have stopped. You could have stopped after they died." Slowly, she looked up at him. "You could have raised your son. You could have removed the curse. You could have—"

"This is _not_ about the monk," spat Naraku furiously, slashing a claw across Kagome's cheek. "He is _Onigumo's_ rightful progeny—a thief, a _fool_—not mine!"

A thin line of blood appeared across Kagome's cheek, seemingly appeasing Naraku's wrath.

"And Onigumo is dead," he said, calmer, his nostrils flaring. "All that remains of the thief are his heart and his memories."

Kagome looked up slowly. "His heart and memories are enough," she said, in a low, overwhelmed voice, then paused.

"No," she amended with a tiny little frown. "They're..."

..._everything_.

Kagome closed her eyes, listening to a sudden wind, then smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Naraku's eyes narrowed, his features darkening with suspicion.

"For bringing Miroku into this world," said Kagome, shakily rising to her feet. "For letting me meet him." She took an unsteady step away from him. "For letting me make memories." One step, two. "For Miroku."

Crunch of gravel and a fluttering petal and she was suddenly not so lost anymore.

"You need me to wish for you, don't you?" she said, trembling with a new sort of power. "You need me to _want_ to help you. The jewel won't work for you, will it? You need a connection. You need what Miroku and Inuyasha have. What Daichi had."

Naraku's lips thinned into an angry line. "Not quite," he said, closing the distance, his dark mane billowing in the wind. "After all, I've already obtained it."

Startled, Kagome froze. "What?"

"My flesh and blood," he smirked, sliding a clawed hand down Kagome's abdomen. 

It took her a long moment to take in the implications, her eyes widening in horror.

"A perfect vessel," continued Naraku, licking the blood from Kagome's cheek. "Perfect new body the Shikon will finally _accept_. Mine and yours."

Horrified, Kagome pushed at him.

__

Can't think—shouldn't—_he's_ _wrong_—_I'm_ not—

Naraku smiled dangerously. "I've let you and the houshi live long enough to give me that," he sang wryly.

A rustle of leaves.

"Of course, I don't quite need one of you anymore."

Kagome's heart stopped beating.

__

Miroku.

"Naraku," she said desperately, panic drowning out logic. "Your tricks—your plans—I'm not Kikyou. I'm not Hotaru. I will not give you any stupid vessels or bodies or _anything_. I'll _stop_ you."

Naraku was motionless for the longest moment, hair curling around him, licking at her wrists.

"You don't know anything yet," he said finally, his words echoing strangely in Kagome's head.

'_You_ _don't_ _know_ _anything_ _yet_, _do_ _you_?'

Anxious, Kagome shook the memory away.

"I know enough," she said automatically, flinching as her mind evoked a different, _warmer_ memory.

Naraku bared his fangs, then quickly regained his equilibrium, and smirked. "You think any of this was your _choice_?" he asked, sullenly amused. "Everything you feel for him is _pretend_. If you are Kikyou, there is room for the dog only. If you are Hotaru, there is room for the thief only. And _I've_ made room for the monk within you. _I've_ created this. All of it."

Fear—fear of him being right, fear of his Mona Lisa half-smile—was crawling along every inch of her skin, but she forced her lips to move. "I am _Kagome_."

A sharp claw dug into her shoulder.

"You are what _I_ say you are," hissed Naraku furiously. "You do as I say. You don't get a choice."

For a moment, Kagome's heart skipped a beat.

'_And_ _you_ _don't_ _get_ _a_ _choice_. I _never_ _did_.'

Kazuo.

Kazuo, Kazuo, _Kazuo_. _Her_ Kazuo.

Frantically, Kagome shook her head, squirming out of Naraku's clutches. "No," she chanted to no one in particular, doubt and suspicion enshrining themselves into her mind. "No. I do what I _want_ to. _You_ don't dictate what happens—you don't—you're not—"

If Kazuo wasn't Miroku...

...she didn't want to—didn't...

"Shall I prove it to you?" asked his cold, condescending voice, but Kagome was barely paying attention. She hadn't said goodbye to Kazuo, had thought—however subconsciously—that maybe she would see him again, would maybe—

"For example, I wanted you to kill the monk," continued Naraku. "And you did."

Kagome's head snapped up.

Her throat wasn't working. Her lips were moving, but no words were coming out.

"He's dying as we speak," murmured Naraku. "You can't feel it?"

Recoiling in horror, Kagome listened.

__

Brush _of_ _waves_, _somewhere_ _in_ _the_ _distance_. _Slash_ _of_ _tide_.

"I only gave him the kazaana."

__

Demons, _ascending_ _the_ _brink_ _of_ _a_ _clearing_.

"But you made him use it. You killed him."

__

Raging winds.

And then, Kagome was _running_, only she wasn't aware she was moving because the world slowed and collapsed in on her and she had to find him, because he couldn't be too far, because she'd seen him just minutes ago, had kissed him just minutes ago, had loved him—

__

All pretend, said Naraku's voice in her head, sounding as though it was riding on her shoulder, its taunts growing louder with every meter she crossed.

__

All part of my creation.

Ten meters, twenty... a fallen log and an uprooted trunk... thirty meters—

__

I could make you hate him if I wanted to. _Snap of the fingers_.

Forty meters... a lake and a clearing... forty-five meters—

"I'm not Kikyou," she was saying, maybe out loud. "You could never make me hate him. I'm never going to hate him. Never."

Fifty meters... burning lungs and a muddy puddle... sixty meters—

__

Noble. _But_ _he's_ _going_ _to_ _hate_ you. _As_ _a_ _matter_ _of_ _fact_, _he_ _already_ _does_. _Daichi_ _hated_ _Hotaru_ _when he died_. _Kikyou_ _hated_ _Inuyasha_. _And_ _the_ _monk_ _hates_ _you_.

Seventy meters... a cramp, starting slowly somewhere near her calf, hair tangling around her face... eighty meters—

__

He's going to die forty heartbeats from now. _Because of you_. _You don't think he hates you_?

"No," she said stubbornly, struggling for breath and time and help. "He's not going to die!"

One hundred twenty meters... a new clearing, last of the demons disappearing into the kazaana, and pathways—all outlined in the sunshine, bright and festive and leading to Miroku, to an expanding chasm of little roads and alternatives, but none that would lead her back home, and—

__

Watch him die. _Watch him die and then come back to me_.

Kagome ran faster.

She wouldn't. She wouldn't come back without Miroku.

Because—

__

This.

This was what Kikyou—and Daichi—had felt fifty years ago, wasn't it?

This need to stay together, this selfishness, this inhuman _hunger_ and greed and general apathy towards life.

A dry little gasp escaped her lips, as realization sunk in.

Kikyou.

Kikyou hadn't—hadn't pinned Inuyasha to that tree because she'd hated him. She'd done it because she couldn't—couldn't let him _leave her_. Even in death, she'd wanted to be with him. And Daichi—the fire—he wanted, _needed_ to end it. If one lived, the other would, too. But if one died—

It hadn't mattered.

Nothing else mattered.

Which is why Kagome hesitated for only the briefest of moments, self-preservation voicing a feeble protest, then _ran_.

She'd memorized every curve and bend of the dark outline before her; its apex tapering off into an eruption of icy hot winds, erratic and inconsistent and sweeping everything in its path. But everything else—the trees, the grass, the sky—was a blur; a graveyard of large, inconsequential structures glistening in the sunshine. And somewhere in that light and chaos, emerged paths Kagome never knew existed, paths so dangerous, so hot and narrow she felt her soul singe under such intense scrutiny.

__

Too _late_. _You're_ _too_ _late_.

So, Kagome picked the shortest path, the one lined with dust and death, and reached Miroku within a heartbeat.

She didn't want to die.

She never wanted to die.

__

Miroku, _on_ _his_ _knees_, _head_ _lowered, hand outstretched_.

But he—he couldn't—

He couldn't die alone.

The kazaana was unfolding before her very eyes, melting into a crumbling gateway, literal and figurative, a puddle of nothingness and she was so so _so_ afraid, but she couldn't let him. Do. This. Alone.

So, Kagome dropped to her knees, too, burrowing her head in his back, and relaxed completely against his warmth, waiting to wake up.

"You promised me," she whispered, but the winds in front of them grew louder, almost deafening against the shelter of his body.

Miroku tensed, that familiar look of concentration that so often lingered around his eyes shattering.

"Kagome!" he shouted, breathing hard and looking incredibly panicked to feel her there, at his back. "Don't—stay away—"

But Kagome shook her head, arms slipping around his waist, her bloodied cheek leaving a mark on his robes. "You promised."

She could feel Miroku's muscles tighten, waiting for him to tell her exactly how much he hated her.

"Kagome," he breathed, taking his eyes off the kazaana and glancing at the ground. "_Please_."

Kagome shook her head wildly, and carefully slid around him to press herself against his chest, climbing into his lap.

Distressed and bewildered, Miroku angled his still-gloved hand away from her as much as possible, steering the kazaana upon the cold dirt around them.

He opened his mouth as if to say, 'I hate you', and she remembered.

'_You're_ Kagome. _Don't_—_don't_ _repeat_ _Kikyou's_ _mistake_.'

Whoever Kazuo had been, was _this_ what he'd meant...?

__

Don't die with him, miko.

The voice was angry and persistent, but—

It didn't matter.

Her bridges were freshly burned, probably still burning, and her soul _ached_. She—she didn't want much. To just wrap her arms around him one last time, to kiss him _one last time_, to drown herself in that familiar scent of tea leaves and chamomile and know he'd forgive her.

"I—" began Miroku slowly, Kagome's head tucked safely under his chin, hearing nothing but the breeze caressing the back of her neck, and her own steady heartbeat. He brought his other arm around her and her hands slid between them, lightly pushing at his warm chest as the howl in the distance grew louder.

"Don't say it, Miro-kun. Please."

The winds seemed to subside and the world felt different somehow, as though it'd been plunged into the eye of a hurricane where life was calmer, slower, safer.

"I can't—" he tried again, inhaling deeply and relaxing against her, and as she caught him looking at her like that, she didn't care how many bridges were buried behind her.

"Lovely weather we're having," said Miroku with a pained breath, tangling his fingers in her hair. _I don't hate you_.

His cheek was crisscrossed with tiny little scratches.

Hers was bleeding again.

"Yes," she whispered. "Perfect for a picnic." _Are you sure_?

The sun passed under a heavy shadow, dipping below a cloud, and it was cool and dark and quiet inside this bubble.

"Picnic," he murmured, face twisting in pain. "We could have one." Wince. "With pocky." Harsh exhale. "And sake." A sickening crack. "Maybe some ants." _I'm sure, Kagome_.

There was blood under her nails; she hadn't stopped to notice, but she would later, and later, she would cry.

"I'm sorry," she said, clutching his robes. "I'm sorry it turned out this way." She was watching him, only him, feeling the kazaana pull on her, pinching at her skin and robes, scratching thin little lacerations into her back, widening and stretching and trying to carve itself into her scar, flesh tensing and tightening around her bones.

"I'm sorry I couldn't change it," she continued frantically, cringing in pain and fixing her eyes on his. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry I made you use it so much. I'm sorry I—"

Miroku blinked at her, and abruptly, the icy glaze around his blue eyes cleared, and she could see real, raw pain.

"Kagome," he asked very, very carefully, lost as the winds tangled her hair with his. "Are you sorry you met me, as well?"

"No!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, and everything was suddenly coated with a fine blur, or perhaps, it was just her eyes that refused to stay dry.

But Miroku made her look at him with his shining face, his darkened heart, and said, with relief and regret, "That's all that matters, Kagome. Nothing else."

__

Nothing else mattered.

Kagome swallowed a cry, and had to burrow her head in his chest for just a little while, just to hear his heartbeat and know it was really real.

And Miroku—definitely real and hers and in pain—collapsed against her with an achy groan, elbows trembling, so her arms instinctively encircled his back tighter and she leaned her head into his shoulder, exhaling.

__

Hers.

But—

"My heart hurts, Miro-kun," she told the knot in his robes, with a soft, lost whisper, and tangled her fingers over the back of his heart.

Miroku's grip on her tightened.

"Selfish," he mumbled into her hair.

"What?" she asked softly.

"I'm _selfish_, Kagome," he murmured, trembling beneath her fingertips. "I won't send you away."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Kagome clung tighter, tears coating her eyelashes. "And I won't leave."

"I know," he said quietly, flinching and trying to steady his breath, a resigned little frown tugging at his lips.

The winds continued to rage around them, tearing at the earth beneath their ankles, their robes fluttering madly. Tired and empty, Kagome watched the emotions play across Miroku's face; exhaustion, anger, and a tiniest amount of wonder that he was still _here_.

"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly, one hand slipping down to touch his.

"Not anymore."

Kagome shut her eyes tightly, lifting her head. "You were a better liar before."

"Kagome," he groaned, his forehead pressing against hers. "There's nothing after this." His voice was strict and controlled and Kagome understood what he was trying to do. "_Nothing_."

"You don't believe that," she mumbled, wrapping her fingers around the beads dangling from his wrist.

Miroku gave a low gasp, wincing in pain. "I've _seen_ it," he said angrily. "I'm seeing it now. There's nothing," he tried again.

The winds roared, hissing and sucking at the ground, impatient for them.

"I'm not afraid," she lied, trying to fuse with his flesh.

A sharp crack tore through the air, a dark glow sparking up lightly at the edge of Miroku's sculpted fingertips, spreading incredibly fast and licking at their silhouettes and suddenly, she knew. 

Naraku wasn't going to change his mind; wasn't going to lift the curse.

They were _really_ going to die.

"You'll have to close your eyes, Kagome," Miroku whispered softly.

Kagome couldn't help it.

A hopeless little sob tore itself from her throat as she crushed her cheek against his chest.

Slowly, Miroku brought his other hand to hold her there.

"Never thought," he gasped out, clearly drained of energy; his muscles taut with tension, stretched to breaking. "Never thought I wouldn't," he groaned, fingers clutching at her unconsciously, "be happy to see you," here, he shut his eyes tightly, lips flattening into a thin line, "on your knees."

Through her tears, Kagome choked on an anguished giggle, her heart overflowing with regret.

Every bone in her body _hurt_. Her temples were throbbing, her back seemed to be on fire, and she—

"Oh, god," she whimpered into his soaked robes, "I love you so much."

"That's nice," he murmured tiredly, his dark locks bouncing shadows across the smooth, moist surface of his skin, "but how do you feel about _me_?"

Kagome burst into tears.

Why? Why was he trying to make her laugh and forget and love him more? Why couldn't he hate her? Why couldn't he—

"Close your eyes, Kagome," he said, a new sense of worn urgency lining his voice.

Kagome's breath caught in her throat.

She could feel it... she could feel the kazaana, cold and sharp and tar-like, at her back as Miroku fixed his eyes on something behind her, ragged and weary and lost.

"Please."

So, Kagome closed her eyes.

She was desperately panicky and perfectly tranquil at the same time, sending a silent goodbye to mama and Souta and Shippou and Jii-chan and Inuyasha and Sango and—

And then, Miroku was kissing her, gentle and hesitating, clinging, riding this incompletion.

She could feel herself drifting off in a soft sort of surrender, eyes closed and heart bare, trembling and glad that she hadn't let him die alone. Because Naraku was wrong. She was Kagome. And she made her _own_ choices. Always.

Except—

Miroku's grip on her loosened abruptly and she was pushed away, hard.

"_Ten seconds_, Inuyasha!" was all Kagome heard, and then... somehow... she was flying, eyes wide open, clutching at the big red angry blur that was leaping away with her, the big red angry blur that was outrunning a sudden burst of strong, upward wind, its icy circumference spreading violently, nicking at the grating haori draped over her.

"Fuck," came Inuyasha's muffled growl. "He was serious." _Faster_, _through a thicket_, _pine needles_ _licking_ _at_ _her_ _knees_. "He was fucking _serious_."

Incredulous and shivering horribly, Kagome dug her nails into her palms.

__

Not gone. _Not_ _gone_. _Not_—

The winds died away.

Inuyasha slowed, muttering frantically, hair streaming behind him.

Kagome closed her eyes, completely dazed.

Maybe—

__

Maybe if I keep them closed, he'll be okay.

"Kagome," said a wary, faltering voice.

Kagome's eyes shot open, scanning the horizon over Inuyasha's shoulder. "We have to go back!"

Inuyasha flinched, coming to a complete stop. "Kagome."

Why was it so damn quiet?

"Miroku," she breathed, fear pooling deep in her chest.

"He's—"

"Miroku!" she screamed, trying to wrench herself free, clawing at Inuyasha's knuckles.

__

Not gone. _Not without me_.

Inuyasha put her down carefully. "Kagome."

"You don't understand," she said forcefully, unsteady on her own two feet. "He _promised_ me, Inuyasha."

Inuyasha averted his eyes.

"He _promised_ me he wouldn't die," she reasoned, pleading with him.

Inuyasha glanced at her, ears matted to his head.

"And he wants to make _plans_, you see," she explained, shaking her head rapidly, hands gesturing wildly.

A slight breeze gently caressed her cheek.

And slowly, Inuyasha approached her, features soft. "He's—"

"—not allowed to leave me!" 

Kagome gave a strange, strangled cry, and crumpled to her knees.

__

Gone. _Without_ _you_. _Your_ _fault_.

Silently, Inuyasha wrapped his red haori around her, and sat opposite her, burying his head in his hands.

__

Never coming back. _Just like I said_.

Trembling, Kagome... surrendered. 

__

Good girl, echoed a cold, pleased voice.

__

Now come back to me.


	13. Solo

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Author's **Notes**: Guess who finished a story! It's me! It's me! ♥

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Warning: _Long_. No, seriously. It's almost epic. Except, you know... not even remotely.

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Chapter**Eleven_: Solo_**

Do not trust the horse, Trojans!

Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks,

even though they bring gifts.

__

—The Aeneid

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.

.

.

.

Four.

He'd been four years old when he'd first felt it.

Sometimes, it was just _there_, beckoning and lurking when no one was around, like when he'd been playing in the ruins of Tenochtitlàn (patiently waiting for his parents to realize he'd wandered off in search of adventure), and he'd felt this—this absence of... _something_.

So he used to grab a paintbrush—sometimes a marker or a stick or some _dirt_—dip it in ink and draw a circle on his right palm. And he would stare at it for a long time, wondering with his little four-year-old mind why it looked so familiar and comforting and _scary_.

He would do this every day. He would paint, wrap his arm with a chain of tiny bones, and give this imaginary evil a silly name. And then he would parade around the sand-covered tents, ambushing his parents' assistants, and thrusting his little hand out with an angry glower and a fiery shout.

Mostly, women would pinch his cheeks. Men would chuckle. And they'd all disappear deeper into the quarry.

And he'd be left alone, frowning in confusion at their lack of fear and respect and—

"You haven't even touched your lunch, Nachan."

Miroku started.

"In a minute, Souta," he lied, fingers tracing over faded kanji. The museum lights were dimmed, the section closed to public, and the floor scattered with ancient tomes and parchments, but none that—

"—is the most important meal of the day, you know," grumbled Souta, leafing through a thick, dusty book.

"Breakfast," hummed Miroku.

"Eh?"

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Souta. Not lunch."

"I hate you!" wailed Souta, poking at the tray next to Miroku.

Miroku grinned, reaching across the cold floor for another useless journal.

__

Nothing. He'd found nothing. Nothing about Naraku, nothing substantial about the Shikon, nothing about _Kagome_.

A part of him knew.

A part of him knew she _couldn't_ have changed it. Changing the past was _impossible_. Timelines were fixed; unalterable and preordained. Everything else—demons, resurrections, ancient curses—was alterable and inconstant, but the past was _not_. He knew this. He did.

But the smallest, most paranoid part of him worried.

__

What if?

What if he wasn't remembering it... correctly? What if he was remembering it the way he _wanted_ to remember it? What if he _hadn't_ pushed her away, what if he'd been too selfish to let go, what if Inuyasha hadn't been able to outrun the kazaana, what if—

"Well, so, _did_ you?" asked Souta suspiciously, palms flat against the floor, eyes narrowed.

"Did I what?" asked Miroku, frowning at a random crate and zeroing in on its contents.

"Have _breakfast_?"

"No," said Miroku absentmindedly, rifling through a stack of crumbling papyrus.

"Nachan—" began Souta grumpily, so Miroku poked him with a pair of chopsticks.

"Stop acting like a girl, or I'll send you back to school," he scolded with a grin.

Souta flushed indignantly. "I'm just trying to help!"

Miroku nodded. "I know. But I can do this alone."

Souta shrugged, sniffling. "So?"

Miroku muttered under his breath. "You're worse than your sister."

But Souta didn't seem very offended. Instead, he opened a roll of parchment and began skimming over it with unmatched enthusiasm.

Miroku bit back a pensive grin, eyeing his neglected lunch.

__

Perfect.

He'd wanted to be perfect. He'd wanted to be perfect for his parents. For himself. For a fragment of a shadow towering over him, asking him if he'd pushed himself hard enough. If he'd atoned and changed and earned his Eurydice.

But he hadn't changed.

He kept making the same mistakes over and over and _over_ again.

"She _is _coming back, right?" asked Souta suddenly, chewing on a pencil with a distracted frown. 

Miroku shrugged. "The sun will rise regardless," he said absently.

Souta scowled. "Sdntdsrveer."

Tired, Miroku thumped his head against the cool wall, leaning back. "I don't speak that particular language, Souta."

"I said, you don't deserve her with that attitude," replied Souta, thrusting a book at Miroku. "I hope she marries Inuyasha and—and—forgets all about you!"

Miroku's low growl startled the boy into an uncomfortable silence.

Miroku rubbed his eyebrow exasperatedly.

If he'd ever thought it was hard to compete against Inuyasha...

..._try competing against yourself_.

"I didn't—" Souta was mumbling.

Miroku knew she loved him. She had to. She'd been ready to die for him, _with_ him. 

"I didn't mean it—"

And he'd have these moments—these little spurts of recollection, of tangled limbs and heated whispers, of floating without anchors, of storms and gratitude and hope—pulling at him, making him feel like an amnesiac when he _knew_ he couldn't possibly have been one.

"Nachan."

Because he _remembered_.

"_Nachan_."

But it wasn't about her, he told himself. He wasn't dying this time. Didn't need her with that pathetic desperation he remembered drowning in. He didn't need her loyalty or commitment or reassurance. He was his own person, with his own plans and goals. He had a life to live. He didn't need to wait for her. He didn't—

He didn't _need_ her.

"Mirok...~u?"

He was only trying to help her come back because... because... she loved electricity, yeah.

"Gah, I give up!" shouted Souta, frustrated.

Miroku ignored him.

And then, with a small, selfish smile, he wondered.

He wondered if she'd cried for him.

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****

*

.

.

She hadn't shed a tear.

She wasn't going to cry. She was going to be _strong_. She was going to mourn without crying, live without grief, and suffer in silence and be peacefully unhappy and—

"Please don't cry, Kagome," said Shippou gently, wiping her tears away with his little paw.

Kagome choked on a sob, crushing the little kitsune to her chest, unaware she'd been crying.

Shippou shut his eyes tightly, wrapping his arms around her neck and inhaling deeply.

"We can't even give him a proper burial," said a shaky voice.

__

Sango.

"We can't even—can't—" she was whispering, hands clenched heavily in her lap.

"I'm not waiting," interrupted Inuyasha, back hunched and claws digging into the dirt floor. "Naraku dies tonight. I'm not waiting for Kikyou. I'm—"

"—half-witted, Inuyasha," said Kaede in a firm, listless voice. "Follow the plan." She cast a stern look around the room. "Nothing's changed."

Sango choked on a sob; Inuyasha blinked, startled; Shippou's paws tightened around Kagome's torn robes; and Kagome... Kagome drew her knees closer, murmuring, "Kaede-baachan's right."

The group looked at her apprehensively.

"Nothing has changed," continued Kagome softly, running her fingers through Shippou's matted bangs. 

__

Absolutely nothing.

She'd changed absolutely _nothing_.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" growled Inuyasha, though his voice wavered.

"Miroku... sama wasn't part of the plan," said Kagome, staring at the ground. 

Inuyasha twitched, ears flattening.

Sango frowned, wiping furiously at her eyes. "What plan?"

"Kikyou's going to get our shards back," answered Kagome with determination, trying to remember the exact pattern of Miroku's earrings.

__

Five. _Two on his left ear_, _three_ _on_ _his_ _right_. 

"And Inuyasha's going to make his wish, _fast_." 

__

Six _rings_ _on_ _his_ _shakujo_. 

"Naraku's not an issue without the Shikon."

__

Seven little freckles on his back. 

"If we time it right, it's going to work, Sango-chan."

Sango was staring at her, disbelief chasing across her features. "Kagome-chan... Kagome-chan, we can't... we can't do this without him." Her eyes darted around, settling on Inuyasha's hunched back. "_Can_... we?"

A muscle in Inuyasha's jaw clenched visibly. "Yeah."

Sango's mouth opened, but no sound came out. She watched Kagome for a while, then let out a little breath. "And then?"

"And then we're going to complete the jewel."

"And do... what with it?"

Kagome averted her eyes, picking lint off Shippou's little overcoat. "Anything we want."

A tiny hopeful frown twisted Sango's pale face. "Anything."

Inuyasha squirmed uncomfortably, fidgeting with a straw mat. "H-hey, don't get any stupid ideas." He glanced at Kaede, seeking support. "Tell them that wish is mine!"

Shippou untangled himself from Kagome and pounced, yanking on Inuyasha's hair. "You're so selfish, you stupid dog! I'm not going to let you get your greedy paws on—"

Inuyasha peeled the little kitsune off, tossing him back to Kagome and saying nothing to defend himself.

Kaede sighed and turned her back on them, reaching for her leathery bag. "Call me when ye decide."

And when she left, Sango's gaze abruptly fixed on Kagome.

"Did he say anything?" she asked.

Kagome froze.

"Did houshi-sama..." began Sango timidly, "...did he say anything... b-before..."

Kagome's heart sank. For a moment, she was tempted to lie, to tell her his last thought was of Sango, but... but his last thought must have been... of dying alone.

Suffocating in guilt, Kagome lifted her eyes to Sango's. "Sango-chan. I'm—I'm sorry."

Serious, Sango scooted closer, ignoring Inuyasha's sudden interest in their whispering. "Do you—_did_ you... love him, Kagome-chan?"

"No."

"Did he... did he love you?"

"No."

Shippou frowned, glancing between the two.

Kagome shrunk into herself, tightening her grip on the little kitsune.

Sango sat back, putting distance between them. "I think... I think I could have."

Kagome's eyes widened guiltily.

Sango gave her a soft smile. "When we meet again," she said, still smiling, though her eyes spoke of exhaustion and defeat, "I'm going to _hurt_ him for making you lie."

She rose with grace, wiping stubbornly at her cheeks. "I'm going to go take a bath," she nodded to no one in particular, shedding her weapons and indulging a weak little smile. "At least now I don't have to worry about that pervert spying on me."

Both girls choked on a sob.

But Sango quickly withdrew from the hut, Kirara trailing behind her silently.

A long, heavy silence followed.

"Sshmru," muttered Inuyasha eventually.

Shippou and Kagome looked up.

Inuyasha sighed deeply, fangs bared. "Sesshoumaru. Let's go find the bastard."

Kagome's eyebrows shot up. "Inuyasha..."

"WHAT?" he snapped. "You said he can help Sango, so let's fucking GO!"

Hesitant, Kagome shook her head. "I have to talk to Kikyou first... we were supposed to meet tomorrow night with the shards."

"Yeah, well, change of plans," mumbled Inuyasha, digging himself deeper into his corner. "If she gets the shards before we get to Kohaku, Naraku might off him. Just in case."

Kagome winced. "You're right."

"Keh. I'm always right," he replied, crossing his arms.

"Nhh," countered Shippou, "not always." He sniffled, leaning into Kagome. "You were wrong about Mirok_u_ and Kagom_e_."

Kagome's heart sped up at the mere mention of Miroku's name. "W-what?"

Shippou fidgeted, throwing an accusatory glare in Inuyasha's direction. "He said it was all in my head. When—when we were in the mountains? And we found you two playing in the snow? And Miroku didn't mind if you ate the last pocky instead of him?"

Kagome's heart swelled painfully.

Inuyasha scoffed, plucking at the mat. "Stupid monk, not fighting for his food—"

Shippou seemed to agree, but disguised it with a cuddle.

"His scent is on you," he whispered confidentially, sniffling. "I like it."

Kagome nodded numbly, staring at the barren wall before her.

__

Not going to cry. _Not_ _going_ _to_—

"My dad," began Shippou sleepily. "My dad could have stayed with me after my mom... went away."

Kagome's bottom lip trembled.

"But he didn't want to," murmured Shippou with an odd sort of acceptance. "They left me together, you know."

Kagome flinched. She'd forgotten. Forgotten that Shippou's parents had died together, too.

Shippou was silent for a long moment, then twisted his little body so she couldn't see his face and asked, in a small, uncertain voice, "You won't do that... will you, Kagome...?"

Kagome's heart dropped to her stomach.

"Because," continued Shippou, "I could wish—I could wish on the jewel, if you want."

Inuyasha's eyes widened. "Wish for what, brat?"

Shippou turned to face the hanyou with a serious expression. "I could be human for Kagome."

Startled, Inuyasha jumped back, fangs bared. "W-what?"

Kagome cried out, crushing the little kitsune into her arms. "_Shippou_-_chan_."

"Crazy," muttered Inuyasha bewilderedly. "Everyone's fucking crazy."

"Or," continued Shippou bravely through the smothering, "I could wish Miroku back."

Inuyasha froze, pointing a claw at Shippou. "OH, NO YOU WON'T, RUNT!"

Surprisingly, Shippou wriggled away from Kagome and hissed at the hanyou. "I will! Your wish is selfish, mine's not!"

"You're not stealing my wish!"

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not!"

"Why NOT?" whined Shippou.

"BECAUSE _I_ WAS GOING TO DO IT!"

Kagome and Shippou blinked.

Embarrassed, Inuyasha calmed down, not looking at either of them. "I was going to... fuck_whatever_keh."

Kagome rose shakily. "You were going to what?"

"Brngbstrdbck."

"What?"

"Bring the bastard back!" grumbled Inuyasha, blushing uncontrollably.

Ruefully, Kagome pasted a cheerful expression.

'_Say you died, and there was a way to bring you back, would you want to—would you want to be brought back?_'

'_No_.'

"I'll do it!" yelled Shippou, balling up his little fists. "You'll do it wrong!"

Inuyasha was seething with rage. "I'm OLDER than you, idiot, I don't DO anything wrong!"

"Except EVERYTHING!"

Kagome watched them in silence, relieved and upset at the same time.

Because she couldn't let them use the jewel to bring Miroku back. He'd... hate her. And what about Kikyou? What about Sesshoumaru? What if he refused to help them? What would happen to Sango's little brother then?

So, _no_. 

The jewel would be meant for one of two things. Either Kikyou, or—

__

Kohaku.

.

.

****

*

.

.

"Gohaku."

"Eh?" asked Miroku, pushing the little wooden bowls away.

"The story of Gohaku and Rin," nodded Souta. "That's where it started."

Miroku's hand froze over a particularly soaked onigiri. "_Go_haku?"

"Un," nodded Souta, mouth full. "Sthglketht."

"Still not fluent, Souta," grinned Miroku, oddly intrigued.

"I _said_, 'Something like that,'" mumbled Souta, eyeing the remaining riceball with hopeful eyes. Miroku nodded, and Souta began picking it apart to get to the meaty center. "Basically, it was twenty-two generations ago, according to Gramps." Poking the sauce, he continued, "Rin and Gohaku beget Atasuke who beget Chojiro who beget Giichi and Yujiro and so on, until we added the Higurashi after the shogunate fell."

"And you're sure it was Gohaku?"

Souta gave a small shrug. "That's what Grandpa thinks, at least. But that's only 'cause he spilled coffee all over the scrolls and can't read them properly."

"Ah."

"Why?" asked Souta curiously.

Miroku frowned thoughtfully. "No particular reason. The name just sounded familiar, that's all."

__

Nah, that would be too much of a coincid—

"Noooo!" shouted Mr. Higurashi, his craggy whiskers twitching as he ran toward the dinner table. "Don't touch that pickle!"

Miroku and Souta blinked, chopsticks frozen centimeters from their mouths.

"Cursed pickles!" panted Mr. Higurashi, resting his palms on his knobby knees. "I bought them during the unluckiest day of the calendar! And the legend says—"

Miroku popped the pickle in his mouth. Souta followed his example.

"Maa," whined Mr. Higurashi, plopping down into one of the chairs. "Why does no one ever listen to me? I am old and wise and have many useful—"

"Grandpa, look!" said Souta happily, dangling the pickle in front of Buyo, Kagome's overgrown cat. "Buyo likes it, too!"

The old man hit his head on his plate.

"Ah," said a woman's voice, "my cooking is not _that_ bad!"

Miroku grinned in greeting, clearing the table of books. Mrs. Higurashi lowered a platter of fruit, then sat next to her father-in-law.

"Progress?" she asked, and Miroku noted the exhaustion coloring her voice.

"Depends on your definition of progress," said Miroku, raising a disdainful eyebrow. "So far, we've managed to go through the first hundred years of your husband's family, three meals, and most of your china."

Buyo batted at a broken ceramic plate for emphasis.

Mrs. Higurashi put a hand to her cheek. "Amazing."

Miroku blinked, then realized she was staring at the thick scroll behind him.

__

The _family_ _tree_.

Mrs. Higurashi rose quietly and padded over to the scroll, which had been haphazardly hung near the coat hanger. Her eyes softened as she pointed toward the end of the scroll. "She's right here!" she explained even though it was obvious to everyone else. "Right," her finger poked the fabric, "_here_."

Flustered, Miroku pushed his plate away, grabbing one of the journals and flipping through its pages. "She's mentioned in this one."

Mrs. Higurashi snatched the journal away, drinking in the words. "—courageous and regularly ill-suited for a bow and arrow... yep, that sounds like her!"

Souta giggled. "She lied to me. She said she totally kicked this demon's," here, he pointed at a crude illustration in the journal, "butt."

Miroku felt his heart lighten as his brain wandered off.

If he remembered correctly—and a strong sense of... _something_ told him he did—she'd _tried_ to take down that demon, only to be thwarted by a persistent branch which insisted on tearing through her shirt and leaving her breasts... slightly exposed...

Uhn.

"Right," he said, hating his pants. "If we—"

"Huh," interrupted Souta. "You're mentioned here a lot, Nachan."

Miroku blanched. "What?"

The page was suddenly in front of his face, familiar kanji staring back at him.

Miroku looked up apprehensively and—

—gulped.

All four Higurashis (Buyo included) were staring at him with such tangible curiosity Miroku wanted to bolt.

"Dear, we know who you are," said Mrs. Higurashi nonchalantly. "Who's up for dessert?"

Miroku gaped.

"We're not stupid," sniffed Souta. "Or, you know... deaf."

Miroku glanced at the boy.

__

Oh.

He'd called him... Miroku back at the museum...

__

Shit.

"You know, this happened once before," nodded Mr. Higurashi solemnly. "Three hundred years ago, during the—"

"Grandpa~" sighed Souta, stuffing Buyo under the table. "He doesn't care."

Mr. Higurashi bristled. "Yes, he does!"

"No, he doesn't!"

"Does!"

"Doesn't!"

Buyo poked his head under the tablecloth and meowed.

Miroku frowned, a twinge of suspicion nagging at him.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "we should start at the beginning."

.

.

****

*

.

.

"That _is_ the beginning."

Kagome shook her head. "I don't believe you."

Slowly, Kikyou's legs swung over the branch. "There is nothing that _I_ can remember, then."

Picking at the grass, Kagome looked up at the tree. "Are you... trying?"

Kikyou glanced down at her indifferently. "No."

Kagome slid to the ground, hands behind her head, staring at the moon. "Why not?"

A soulstealer slithered past the tree, tapping Kikyou then disappearing into the dark sky. "What's the use of remembering?"

Kagome's fingers tangled with a dirt-wrapped root beneath her head. "I don't know. But... everything that's happening now is happening because of memories." A pebble dislodged itself from the clump. "The jewel exists because of Midoriko's memories. Naraku exists because of Onigumo's memories."

Kikyou hummed softly, lowering herself to the ground. Casually, she sat down next to Kagome, watching her. "Do you exist because of my memories?" she asked peculiarly.

Kagome shivered, her soul dangerously scattered and eager. "Maybe."

A soulstealer tickled her knee, then hid behind a leafless rosebush.

Kikyou was staring off into the night with a contemplative expression. "My old body," she began unemotionally, "my real body... I had a scar from here," her hand touched her calf, "to," her fingers slid up, "here." She glanced at Kagome curiously. "Do you know how I got it?"

"No," answered Kagome automatically.

"Then I suppose you're right," said Kikyou softly. "We're not the same person." With a slight frown, she turned to watch Kagome. "Whether we share a soul or not—we do not share our memories." Dark eyes overly bright, she continued. "If we shared a body, a scent... we would still be two different people—"

Involuntarily, Kagome smiled at her, feeling oddly validated.

"—because I would never have done half the things you've done with that vile houshi," finished Kikyou, a possibly-imagined smirk playing about her lips.

Kagome's smile faded. "I liked you better when you hated me."

"Oh, I still hate you," said Kikyou proudly. "I'm just not threatened by you anymore."

Kagome blinked. "You were threatened by me?"

A soulstealer whispered softly in her ear, gliding away.

Kikyou remained impassive. "I'd thought you'd be what I never could. What you are," she said. "Perhaps I..." she smiled, almost playfully, "...gave you too much credit."

Kagome sat up, facing her directly. "We can wish you back."

Slightly startled, Kikyou averted her eyes. "I don't think it's possible. I cannot live on a fragment of a soul. Neither can you."

"I'd be willing to try."

Kikyou dug her toes into the grass, wrapping her arms around her knees. "You won't be able to love your houshi without it. Just like I can't love Inuyasha."

Kagome shook her head, frowning angrily. "It's okay."

Kikyou tilted her head. "You did love him... didn't you?"

"No," she said and meant it. "I didn't love him. Not really. I didn't love him until I—" She shook her head to clear it of thought. "There's this story," she murmured softly. "About this guy—Achilles. Everything in his life was already preordained, you know?"

Kikyou said nothing, staring at the blade of grass between her fingers.

"No matter what he did, nothing—_none_ of it—was by choice. Everything just _had _to happen," continued Kagome, a ghost of resentment lingering in her throat. "But he didn't really care, you know?"

Kikyou glanced at Kagome briefly. 

"One day... one day he heard about this woman, this warrior, Penthesilea," said Kagome with a thoughtful frown. "And he wanted to kill her."

Kikyou tilted her head slightly.

"And he fought and fought and fought until he finally reached her, right?"

Kikyou released the thin blade of grass, and they both watched it drift away, brushing across the ground, dipping into a muddy puddle.

"And then he killed her," said Kagome. Kikyou's shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. "He killed her, but you know, as his sword drove through her neck, he looked into her eyes and he fell in love. He fell in love with her as she was dying. For that tiny little moment, he _loved_ her."

Kikyou was regarding her unemotionally. "You didn't kill him."

"Yes, I did. You and me and Hotaru—" began Kagome pleadingly.

But Kikyou rose and extended her hand toward Kagome. "You didn't kill him."

Kagome latched on and pushed herself up. "Who did?"

Kikyou bared her teeth. "Naraku."

Kagome shook her head. "There would've been no Naraku if you hadn't... if Hotaru..." Her head was hurting. "If it hadn't been for Midoriko and the jewel, you'd have never met Inuyasha, and..."

Kikyou was paler than usual. "You blame me?"

"No," said Kagome. "I just... I don't _know_ who to blame. That's why I have to trace it back to where it began."

Kikyou observed her for a moment. "It won't relieve the guilt. For either of us."

Kagome winced. "What will? Naraku's death?"

"Possibly."

"You don't feel... responsible for him?"

Kikyou frowned. "Why should I? We all make our own decisions. He made his. I had nothing to do with—"

"No, we don't!" shouted Kagome. "None of _us_ made our own decisions! Would you have DIED if you'd had the choice? Would Inuyasha have been born a hanyou if he'd had a choice? Would I love that jerk if I _wanted_ to instead of—"

Clearly annoyed, Kikyou snapped. "So... what do you want from _me_?"

"I... I want you to give me a choice."

Kikyou gaped.

Kagome schooled her features. "You weren't going to bring us the shards." It wasn't a question.

Kikyou looked away, almost guiltily.

"And that's okay," continued Kagome. "But I want to end it. And to end it, I need to know. I need to remember."

Kikyou wavered. "Remember what?"

"Remember. From before."

"There is no before."

"You know that's not right. You know about Midoriko-sama. You know who Inuyasha is. You burned and faded with the jewel. _You_ _know_."

.

.

****

*

.

.

"_You_ _know_."

"Ah!" complained the old man with a lazy whine. "You startled me." The house of cards before him crumbled. "Now I have to start all over again!"

Still groggy from his nightmare, Miroku grabbed a chair, scraped it across the stone floor, and straddled it with a stubborn scowl. "So do _I_."

The old man paused contemplatively, the sunrise reflecting in his beady eyes. "Not necessarily." He flicked a card at Miroku. "You're too impatient, sonny!" he scolded lightheartedly.

Miroku growled low in his throat. "I _deserve_ to be impatient. I've waited two lifetimes."

The old man frowned. "So you have."

Frustrated, Miroku leaned his elbows on the rickety table, burying his head in his hands. "You should have told me, Higurashi-jii-san. Told _her_."

The old man cackled sheepishly. "You're a smart boy, joukyaku—you know I couldn't." Pause. "Can't say I didn't try, though!" he shook his wrinkled fist indignantly. "Told her about every legend but her own! Taught her enough to come back, I did."

Miroku looked up with a bleary grimace, tapping the card to his sweaty forehead. "Mummified appendages aside, she's not ready."

Mr. Higurashi grew serious. "Do you really think I'd let my own granddaughter go back and forth like this if I wasn't _sure_ she'd come back in the end, eh?"

Miroku straightened, hope rising in his chest before he could quash it. He looked at the old man and demanded, in a low, frustrated voice, "Prove it."

.

.

****

*

.

.

"Prove it, DOG TURD!"

Inuyasha swung the Tetsusaiga, sending another blast at Kouga. "Just fucking ASK her!"

Kouga jumped, avoiding the attack. "I don't HAVE to ASK her!" he shouted, dust surging around him. "I KNOW she doesn't want them!"

Kagome fidgeted with a small leaf. "Um—"

Inuyasha puffed away a particularly dirty bang, then kicked a tree in Kouga's general direction. "ASK HER!"

Kouga blocked the tree, halving it and sending the pieces ricocheting. "SHUT! UP!"

Kagome frowned. "Guys—"

Panting, Inuyasha dug his feet into the dry ground, steeling his resolve. "Okay, I guess we'll take them the HARD way!" he cackled maniacally, cracking his knuckles.

Gasping for air, Kouga charged, fists clenched.

"If—" he began, practically foaming at the mouth, "—if Kagome wants the shards, I'll _give_ her the damn shards, but—"

"I want them."

Kouga froze. Then blinked. Then blinked some more. "W-what?"

Kagome lowered her head, twisting her hands. "I need the shards, Kouga-kun."

Kouga scratched the back of his neck. "Er..."

Kagome looked up at him. "Please."

Inuyasha gave an annoyed _humph_!, sticking his nose in the air. "Forget it. He's all talk. He was never REALLY going to give you the shar—"

"Shut up!" snapped Kouga and advanced on Kagome, his long ponytail fluttering in the wind, dark strands tickling Kagome's cheek. Slowly, his features softened. "Kagome..."

"Kouga-kun," she began uncertainly. "Gokuraku-chou are all but gone. And—and I know it'll take time to rebuild your tribe, but... but you can do it," she cheered, "without the shards!"

Kouga scowled, nose twitching. "What about the spider and his bitches?"

"Keh," snorted Inuyasha, cleaning his tattered haori, "don't worry your empty little head about Naraku." He growled at a particularly torn seam, then spat, "We're on it."

"Yeah," Kouga spat back, "you've BEEN on it for HOW long?"

Inuyasha twitched. "Like—you—ghhh—fucking—" 

"Oh, please, I could kill that bastard with both hands tied behind my back!" boasted Kouga, inspecting his nails with a nonchalant expression. 

"Let's see if you're right! I'll just rip them out and see for myself!" screamed Inuyasha, trying to clear himself a decent path by kicking one of the wolves surrounding Kouga. Except, the wolf jumped to the side at the last moment, and Inuyasha's foot flew straight into—

"Son of a _bitch_!" growled Kouga, rubbing his behind, his pointy fangs bared. "I WAS going to NOT kick your worthless ass today, but I guess if you INSIST—"

Kagome rubbed her eyes. "Sit."

Even though she'd barely whispered it, Inuyasha heard and slammed into the hard ground, feet sticking out.

Kouga gave him a cocky grin, turning to Kagome. 

"Fine," he said, still grinning, "you can have the shards." His eyes hardened. "_If_. You let me handle Naraku."

Kagome frowned, shaking her head. "I can't do that, Kouga-kun."

Kouga frowned, too. "You'll never get past that wind-bitch."

"I'm not even going to try," said Kagome with a small smile. "Kouga-kun... trust me, please?"

Kouga wrinkled his nose childishly, watching her for a long moment. Then, with a grumpy sigh, he went down to one knee, and dug around his furry boots. "I swear, if that piece of dog shit gets you killed, I'm going to—" here, he handed Kagome one shard, "—well, I'll kill him no matter what, but you're not getting yourself hurt, okay." He trailed off, and Kagome could almost see a giant question mark lingering at the end of that sentence.

"Of course not!" she said a little too enthusiastically, clapping her hands.

The empty little vial bounced against her collarbone. Kouga glanced at it with what resembled worry. 

Slowly, he handed her the second shard. "And where exactly is this final battle taking place?" he asked casually, watching Kagome out of the corner of his eye. "I'm just asking because I want to... you know... stay as far away from that place as possible."

Kagome giggled softly. "_Goodbye_, Kouga-kun."

Inuyasha sat up, rubbing the dirt off his forehead. He sent a somber glance to someone behind Kagome, then quietly stood up, straightening his haori. 

Kagome turned around, intent on leaving, and spotted—

"We found him," said Sango.

Kagome's heart leapt to her throat.

"Found w-who?" she asked shakily as Shippou scampered over to greet her properly.

Sango blinked. "Um... Sesshoumaru?" she said carefully, trying to avoid Inuyasha's eyes. "We found out where he's staying, so we thought we'd... uh... come and tell you," her eyes darted to Kouga and his wolves, "_now_."

Something inside Kagome felt very broken.

__

For a moment, I thought...

She cleared her throat, and tried to smile. "Great!" She turned to Inuyasha, and tilted her head happily. "Ready to go see your brother, Inu-ya-sha~?"

Inuyasha's claws dug into a nearby tree, practically sawing it in half. "Never wanted to be so blind in my life."

"What was that?"

"YES, damn it! Let's fucking go already!" snarled Inuyasha. "The sooner I give up the Tetsusaiga, the sooner we can all DIE A HORRIBLE PAINFUL DEATH."

One of Kouga's wolves snorted.

Shippou snickered, wrapping his little paws around Kagome's neck.

Kagome giggled, glancing at Sango. "Is it very far from here, Sango-chan?"

Sango's brows drew together in thought. "About a day. If Inuyasha can grow up in the next five minutes because I'm certainly not going to stop every five minutes to change his diaper."

Inuyasha stalked past her, mumbling obscenities.

A small grin was playing about Sango's lips. "We should hurry, Kagome-chan."

"And have dinner!" added Shippou with a wink, jumping off Kagome's shoulder and scurrying away. 

Kirara batted her tails in agreement, bouncing off, and then... and then Kagome was left alone.

Well, not quite.

"Hey, where's the monk?"

Kagome winced. "He's..." _Dead_. _Gone_. _Not_ _waiting_ _for_ _me_. _All in my head_. "...not here, Kouga-kun."

"Well, I can see that," said Kouga, scratching his head. "But I mean, isn't he—" He trailed off abruptly, leaning closer to Kagome, and sniffing her face. "H-have you been... _crying_?" he asked, panicking slightly.

Kagome smiled brilliantly. "I had a splinter and it really hurt, but Sango-chan took it out and it's much better now, Kouga-kun!"

Kouga watched her suspiciously. "Splinter?"

Kagome nodded innocently, clasping her hands behind her back and stretching. "Well, it does hurt more than a paper cut, you know!"

Warily, Kouga took a step back, possibly thinking she was deranged and contagious. His bangs fell forward, brushing over his dark eyebrows. And for a moment—a tiny sliver of time—Kagome could pretend that dark hair and those blue eyes belonged to someone else.

But Kouga's eyes were _too_ blue, and his hair was _too_ black, and there was no reflective spark of recognition in her heart, so she said, in a soft, shaky voice, "Be happy."

"Eh?"

"Be happy, Kouga-kun!" she smiled cheerfully, cheeks hurting from the strain.

Kouga blinked, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. "Wha—why? Where ya going?"

Kagome paused, not turning around. Her fingers wrapped around her little red necktie.

"Home, Kouga-kun," she lied. "I'm going home."

.

.

****

*

.

.

He was home.

He was drowning and burning and buried in her.

And he was watching her eyes widen as he pulsed inside her, and suddenly, she was shouting and pressing her chest to his and locking her knees against his hips and tightening her arms around his neck and making him _promise_.

They weren't vague anymore, the dreams. They weren't fictitious or unusual or comforting. They were _real_. They were _memories_. They existed once—no, they still existed. _He_ still existed. Still had enemies, still had needs, was still _alive_, was still—

—nursing a serious headache.

Miroku cracked open an eye with a groan.

__

Last time I trust that old bastard to pick the sake.

"Kazuo!"

Slowly, Miroku sat up in bed, groping blindly for a shirt.

"No one here by that name," he grinned playfully.

His father burst into the room. "You could at least _pretend_ to like the name," he huffed. "Your mother spent... well... okay, so she flipped a coin, but honestly!"

Miroku yawned groggily, rising. "You found it?"

Mr. Yasuo grew serious. "Mh hmm."

Miroku stretched. "And?"

His father hesitated for a moment. "She... dies."

Miroku froze, his muscles suddenly taut with tension, stretched to breaking. "What?"

"In this legend, she dies," said Mr. Yasuo uncomfortably. "The miko and the devil," he flipped open his little notebook and quoted, "—'perished together into the depths of hell.'"

Miroku heaved a sigh of relief. "More than one miko in those days."

But Mr. Yasuo remained concerned. "You know, I never really interfere with your decisions—"

"Hn," nodded Miroku, looking for his shoes.

"Like, when you ran into that crypt I specifically told you _not_ to go into—"

"Hn."

"—and you passed out from the toxins—I never said anything."

Miroku spotted his shoes.

"And when you caught a guerilla truck to Romania during a raid, your mother and I said nothing—"

"Actually..." began Miroku.

"—and when you started reciting obscure mantras and sealing shrines, we—"

"—freaked out."

Mr. Yasuo huffed. "A little, yes, but my point is... don't be the cicada."

Miroku blinked. "I thought we'd agreed you'd cut down on opium."

Mr. Yasuo held up a hand, an insightful spark brightening his eyes. "Oh, you know the story—about the cicada that's drinking the dew, not knowing about the praying mantis behind it? And the praying mantis that's trying to eat the cicada, not knowing there's a sparrow behind it? And the sparrow that's trying to eat the mantis, not knowing there's a guy with a catapult waiting below?" He paused for oxygen. "You _know_, the one about us all being small creatures so eager to profit by something directly in front of us that we fail to realize the—the danger _behind_ us?"

Miroku chuckled. "So... what you're saying is, I should cancel my plans to invade China."

Mr. Yasuo exhaled harshly. "Kazuo—"

Miroku shot him a stern glance.

"Miroku—_son_." Troubled, Mr. Yasuo mumbled, "Perhaps you need distance. Nothing is worth risking your life over. Kagome-kun is certainly a nice girl, but she has to walk this path on her own."

Miroku frowned. Something very possessive coiled deep in his stomach. "No, she doesn't." Pause. "_I_ didn't."

He turned to leave, his hand lingering on the doorknob, then—

"Did I... change?" he asked his father.

Mr. Yasuo jumped slightly. "No," he said despondently. "You've always been stubborn." He shook his head. "And easily distracted by a pretty face."

Miroku opened the door cheerfully. "I'm getting her back, you know."

Mr. Yasuo sighed as though he'd expected nothing less.

Miroku grinned wickedly. "She owes me a story."

Mr. Yasuo nodded absentmindedly as Miroku left the room. "Oy! D'you want your scrolls back?" he shouted after him.

"Nah, you can have them."

.

.

****

*

.

.

"You can have it."

Sesshoumaru cocked a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

Inuyasha growled, digging his claws into his palms to keep from tearing into the demon. "You can fucking HAVE it, okay?"

"You would part with Father's Fang for a human."

Inuyasha's nose twitched as he threw a quick glance at Kagome. He took a deep, trembling breath and grumbled, "Look, you bastard, will you fucking do it, or not? I don't feel like wasting my damn time on _you_!"

Sesshoumaru turned to leave.

"Inuyasha," whispered Kagome sternly, slipping her hands around his left arm.

Snarling, Inuyasha snapped, shaking her off and lunging for his brother. "SESSHOUMARU!"

Sesshoumaru ducked effortlessly, both eyebrows slightly raised. "What's in it for me?" he asked coldly, dodging Inuyasha's furious attacks. 

"The GODDAMN Tetsusaiga, that's what!" roared Inuyasha, flushed and determined. "Even though it's fucking MINE and you don't fucking DESERVE it and I fucking DO and—"

Sesshoumaru slid aside with speed that made Kagome's eyes hurt, then blocked Inuyasha. By, um, smacking the hanyou's forehead. "I can take the Tetsusaiga, Inuyasha. I don't need your consent."

Inuyasha stopped squirming and blinked, eyes crossing as he tried to look at the palm pressing against his bangs.

"Keh, I get it now," he said with a snort, changing gears so quickly Kagome was sure Sesshoumaru had damaged something vital in the hanyou's brain. 

Sesshoumaru spared him a relatively lenient glance.

Inuyasha straightened, dusting off his haori. "Get it, Kagome?" he asked, turning to her with a snobby huff. "He CAN'T do it," he sneered proudly. "He's not demon enough!"

Kagome cringed, the urge to drop down and cover her head for fear of a nuclear holocaust rising exponentially.

But Sesshoumaru merely smirked. "Farewell, Inuyasha." 

"Sesshoumaru-sama..." said a small voice, peeking behind Sesshoumaru's robes.

Kagome's eyes widened.

__

Where'd she_ come from?_

"This doesn't concern you, Rin," replied Sesshoumaru blandly.

The little girl—Rin—said nothing more, tugging at his pantleg and biting her pouty bottom lip.

Kagome poked Inuyasha.

Inuyasha turned to glare at her with deep hostility. He opened his mouth to snap off an insult or two, then shut his eyes tightly.

"I've never asked you for anything, Sesshoumaru," he growled through gritted teeth, claws twitching uncontrollably.

"Except food."

Rin giggled.

Inuyasha flushed furiously. "I was four!" 

Kagome stifled a laugh, her heart burdened with a sense of duty. Inuyasha glanced at her for a brief moment, then brought his attention back to his brother. He opened his mouth to say something, but—

"You're lucky," said the little girl cheerfully, "Jaken never wants to give me food!"

Inuyasha blinked. Then blinked some more. "Okay, who the hell IS this kid, and why is she here? She's HUMAN."

Sesshoumaru ignored him. "My patience is running thin. Why—"

"Stop asking stupid questions and just DO it, okay?" snapped Inuyasha irritably, swatting at the flowers Rin insisted on thrusting at him.

Sesshoumaru's eyes narrowed ominously. "If you interrupt me one more ti—"

"Sesshoumaru-sama!" said Rin, twirling. "We should go home before Ah-Uhn eats Jaken!"

Sesshoumaru gave a slight nod as she continued rambling and picking trampled flowers.

Inuyasha gaped. "Hold on. SHE gets to interrupt you and I d—"

"What Inuyasha means," said Kagome quickly, covering Inuyasha's mouth, "is that we would really appreciate it if you would trade with us." A small frown crossed her features. "Even though you've tried to kill me a few times and you're really mean to Inuyasha and you don't actually _need_ the Tetsusaiga—"

Inuyasha pried her fingers off his mouth. "Oh, yeah, you're so much better at this than I am."

Kagome huffed. "Well, technically, Mir..." her heart skipped a beat, her brain shutting down. "I mean... Sango-chan. Sango-chan is the negotiator of the group, not me."

Inuyasha bit his lip, clearly stressed. "Stupid fucking monk," he grumbled under his breath. "Never around when we actually need him."

Kagome averted her eyes.

Inuyasha straightened with determination. "I'm so going to kick his ass when we bring him back." 

Kagome bit back the nausea.

"Bye bye!" said Rin happily, waving at them from a small distance.

"Shit," grumbled Inuyasha, rushing to catch up with a clearly bored Sesshoumaru. "Wait, you son of a bitch!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Inuyasha," drawled Sesshoumaru, pausing. 

Kagome approached them slowly. "Ask _nicely_, okay?" she whispered.

Inuyasha looked ready to go off. "I ASKED NICELY! THE FIRST FIFTY TIMES!"

Kagome couldn't help it. She giggled.

"WHAT?" Inuyasha screamed into her face.

"Oh, nothing," waved Kagome. "Just trying to picture your babysitter's obituary." She pushed him forward, her skirt fluttering in the wind. "Nicely!"

Inuyasha stiffened awkwardly.

Sesshoumaru waited.

Rin plopped down to the ground, trying to count the dots on Sesshoumaru's robe.

"Okay," said Inuyasha, inhaling deeply. "This kid—this kid's had a pretty crummy life, okay? And his sister's had a pretty crummy life, too, okay? So..." he shuddered, looking repulsed, "..._please _fix him."

Sesshoumaru appeared to be made of stone, not moving a muscle.

"Because you have nothing else to do anyway," mumbled Inuyasha under his breath. "Aside from prancing around and braiding your stupid hair."

Sesshoumaru turned to leave.

Kagome shut her eyes tightly, then—

—opened them to see Rin handing her a wilted flower.

"Is the boy very broken?" she asked, and Kagome could've sworn the little girl was... not so little inside.

"Yes," replied Kagome softly, bending down to her level. "He's very broken, Rin-chan."

Rin cocked her head, pursing her lips in thought. "I was very broken once, too!" she said innocently, then ran off after Sesshoumaru.

Kagome rose, watching the little girl jump in front of the demon lord.

Sesshoumaru stopped.

Rin pointed back at Inuyasha and Kagome, calling them over.

"Sesshoumaru-sama," she sniffled, fussing and fidgeting under his fluffy fur.

Sesshoumaru glanced down at her, expression void of emotion.

Warily, Inuyasha approached.

Rin clung tighter. "_Please_."

Sesshoumaru leveled his gaze with Inuyasha's for a brief moment. 

"Where?" was all he asked.

Kagome's eyes widened.

Inuyasha, on the other hand, blinked and practically _tittered _like a vindictive toddler. "Ahaha_ha_! Holy shit! You're actually letting some little snot boss you arou—"

__

Snickt.

"FUCK!" growled the hanyou, glaring at the shallow gash on his chest.

Quickly, Kagome reached for an arrow, but stopped cold. Because—because the little girl was smiling up at her.

Slowly, Kagome smiled back.

.

.

****

*

.

.

"It is good to see you smile again, Miroku-sama."

Miroku started, looking around.

__

I'm losing it.

He shook his head and returned his attention to the timeline. But there was something—something—itching—on his—

__

Whack.

A tiny demon dropped onto the paper in front of him.

Miroku scratched his neck, where a small bite mark was spreading. "Myouga-sama!"

The little flea puffed up. "Ah, such is fate for a useless old flea!" he wailed.

Miroku scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Still up to your old tricks, I take it?"

"Heh," nodded Myouga. "Some of us never change, eh?" He bounced. "It's been quite a number of centuries," he bowed politely. "I've been keeping track of you, as per Inuyasha-sama's wishes."

Miroku's eyebrows shot up. "Sorry?

Myouga jumped. "Oh! Nothing, nothing! Please pretend I didn't say that!" He rubbed his beak mournfully. "Ah, I should've let my wife greet you instead!"

"You married?" asked Miroku, amused.

"Ah, Miroku-sama, I assure you, it was not by choice," sighed the flea mournfully. "Thankfully, she's off tormenting her sister in... Aruba. Or Haiti. I forget." He paused, perking up. "Which one's in upheaval?"

"Haiti, Myouga-sama," grinned Miroku.

"Well, then! Let's hope she's not in Aruba."

Feeling oddly reminiscent, Miroku tilted his head curiously. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, I am not at liberty to say..." began the flea, "...but I assure you, it is for your own benefit."

Miroku frowned deeply, his brain slowly connecting the dots. "The jewel."

Myouga bounced. "Excuse me?"

Abruptly, Miroku stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "The jewel!"

__

She said—

She'd thought it had never been completed in the past.

"It wasn't, was it?" he asked excitedly, trying not to squish the terrified flea.

"Wasn't what?" asked Myouga anxiously.

"Wasn't completed," replied Miroku, pulse racing.

And if it hadn't been completed _there_, it—it was...

..._coming_ _here_.

.

.

****

*

.

.

__

Come to me.

Kagome's stomach twisted. _No_.

__

You belong with me.

Kagome turned around, tangling herself deeper into the blankets.

Confused and miserable, she sat up quietly, careful not to wake Shippou, and made her way outside the hut.

Everything was _mixing_.

And oddly enough, making too much sense.

She remembered asking him once, way before any of this started, '_What was your grandfather like_?'

And he'd replied, '_He was a good man_. _I think_. _I never met him_.'

Quietly, Kagome sat on the wooden steps.

And she also remembered asking him so many questions and never knowing _enough_ about him, never understanding anything. And now that she actually understood and knew, she... didn't want to. After what Kikyou had told her, after what Naraku had shown her...

The spider mark on her back pulsed, tearing into her spine and making her arch upwards in pain.

__

Come.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," said a small voice.

Kagome jumped. "Shippou-chan!"

Shippou sniffled and was silent for a long moment. 

"You're not coming back, are you?" he asked finally, so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

Startled, Kagome glanced away. "What do you mean?"

Shippou sat next to her, stretching his little legs. "You didn't promise," he said. "When I asked if you'd leave me."

Kagome's eyes were oddly itchy.

"My dad didn't promise either."

Kagome scooped him up, kissing his forehead. "I'm not sure promises mean anything anymore, Shippou-chan."

After all, Miroku had promised her—

"Yours do," replied Shippou. 

Kagome held him tighter. "Would you like to hear a story?"

Reluctantly, the little kitsune nodded.

"Once upon a time," she began absently, trying to keep Naraku's whispers at bay, "there were two boys." She adjusted her hold on him and continued, "One of the boys grew up to be noble and kind, and married a wonderful girl. The other boy... never grew up."

Shippou's tail twitched. "Naraku?"

"Onigumo."

Shippou nodded. "And the other boy?"

"Daichi-sama," answered Kagome softly, her whole body burning and aching and tottering on the edge of a familiar precipice.

"Miroku's grandfather?"

Startled, Kagome looked at him. "How do you know?"

Shippou snuggled deeper. "He tells me... _told_ me stories, too."

Kagome's throat constricted, but she continued. "Daichi-sama didn't want children."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure. I think—maybe—he didn't want them paying for his mistakes."

"The kazaana?"

Kagome nodded, wiping a smudge off his cheek. "Without a son, the line would've ended, and Onigumo wouldn't have won."

"But...?"

"Onigumo was _angry_," murmured Kagome. "When night fell, he attacked," she continued softly. Shippou shivered. "But Daichi-sama was prepared."

__

Stench of burning flesh, _a piercing ache fusing his fingers together_, _blistered scalp melting into his skull_—

Kagome gagged, pushing Shippou away.

"Kagome! Ka—"

"So-they-moved-away," she breathed out, palms flat against the wooden planks, bangs matted to her clammy forehead. She inhaled deeply, pushing the nausea away. "To-to a different village. But Hotaru worried. She worried Onigumo survived." 

Reluctantly, Shippou crawled closer, tears trembling in the corners of his eyes. "It's okay, Kagome," he pleaded. "I don't—I don't want to know anymore."

Kagome tensed, covering his little hand with hers. "_Someone_ should, Shippou-chan." _Just in case_.

Shippou's eyes widened a fraction. "Wh—Kagome—no—"

"So she went out on her own one day," said Kagome in a rush, averting her eyes. "And met a priestess."

Shippou fidgeted with his tail, staring at the ground. "Kikyou?"

"—and went right past her grave. Past the cave, past the sleeping boy, past the dark shadow watching her."

__

Naraku, in disguise. _Humming against her skin, asking_. _Asking to bear his child_.

"K-Kagome," frowned Shippou.

"Shippou-chan?"

"If... if _Onigumo_ cursed _Daichi_ with the kazaana, why... why did Miroku's dad get it, too, if... if Naraku was his... his _real_ dad?"

Kagome pulled the little kitsune closer. "Shippou...chan. Rules are made to be broken."

"But... but that's cheating!" cried Shippou, outraged. Slowly, his grip on Kagome's skirt loosened in defeat. "What happened... after?"

__

Naraku, watching the Shikon burn and fade with Kikyou.

"He waited," was all she said.

Waited for night to fall, for his son to be born, for a new fire to spread and consume them all. Waited for his grandchild and the jewel and the dog and the girl who could overcome time, setting the stage again.

"Were they friends?" asked Shippou tiredly.

"Once," nodded Kagome quietly. "They traveled together for years."

"Like us?"

"I guess. They argued, saved each other's lives." She paused thoughtfully, the pain in her back fading. "But I think Onigumo was just very... weak. Daichi-sama never was."

"So why did Onigumo _win_, Kagome?"

"I don't know. I think—I think Daichi-sama had more to lose. Onigumo had nothing."

"What about—what about Miroku's grandmother?"

Kagome glanced at the starry sky, wondering how Kikyou was doing. "Hotaru-chan was a firefly, Shippou-chan." She added, "Like Kikyou-sama." Gently, she poked Shippou's little nose. "Fireflies don't have very long lives, you know."

Slightly paranoid, Shippou cocked his head. "You're not a firefly, are you, Kagome?"

"No, Shippou-chan."

"No," nodded Shippou. "You're... like the Goshinboku."

Kagome paused.

..._the_ _Goshinboku_!

There was a small inscription on the sacred tree in her time—it was tiny and insignificant, probably carved by an overly enthusiastic boy or girl—a small heart and an arrow and oh, GOD, she was an _idiot_!

"You can say that again," came a grumpy voice.

__

Inuyasha.

"You were talking out loud," he defended, scratching his sleep-mussed hair. "What about the Goshinboku?"

Kagome whirled around. "There's something written on it in my time."

"What?"

"I don't know—it doesn't matter," she clapped her hands. "What matters is that it's _there_, but not _here_."

Inuyasha and Shippou took a wary step back.

Kagome giggled. "Somebody wrote it in _my_ time. So, it doesn't change anything in _yours_," she tried again.

Inuyasha and Shippou exchanged worried glances.

Huffily, Kagome threw a branch at them. "The jewel. The jewel shouldn't be completed here," she said, a surprised laugh rolling off her lips. 

Inuyasha blinked. "Okay, your brain's definitely broken."

Kagome spun around. "Possibly. But I get it now. I—OW!"

"Ah, Kagome-sama," said a tiny voice, "delicious, as always!"

Inuyasha squinted, parting the grass to find the source of the annoyance.

"What the hell are you doing here, you coward?" he grumbled, wrinkling his nose.

Myouga faltered. "Why, I'm here to offer my assistance in this time of need, of course!"

Inuyasha seemed to be considering him for a moment, then stomped off, rambling about deserters and fathers and indigestible ramen.

Shippou yawned sleepily. "Ditto. Let's go back inside, Kagome."

"In a minute, Shippou-chan," nodded Kagome, smiling cheerfully.

The moment Shippou was out of sight, Kagome's smile vanished.

"Myouga-jiji," she said softly. "I know about Midoriko."

Myouga nodded prudently. "I see."

"Will he be okay?"

Myouga paused thoughtfully. "He always is."

Satisfied, Kagome tilted her head, stretching.

"What would you wish for?" asked the little flea suddenly.

Kagome started. "What?"

"If there was a second wish to be granted," mused Myouga, "and it belonged to _you_, what would you wish for?"

Heart slamming against her ribcage, Kagome shook her head. "I..."

'_Would you want to be brought back_?'

'_No_.'

"Wish for something, Kagome-sama. There must be something you want."

And for a moment, a small, happy smile slipped to her lips as she realized there _was_ something she wanted.

__

Badly.

"I want him to remember."

.

.

****

*

.

.

"Why do you remember?"

"Ah." Miroku gave a pious sigh. "I was remarkably compassionate in my past life. I suppose this is my reward."

Mr. Yasuo exchanged an amused glance with Mrs. Yasuo. "Son, it's probably slipped your mind, but we... _know_ you."

Mrs. Yasuo swatted at him. "Oh, leave him alone!" she chided, glancing at the silent well. "Just think," she swooned, her eyes overly bright, "how romantic this is! A love that spans two lifetimes!"

Mr. Yasuo wrinkled his nose, clutching his stack of books and tripping over a particularly creaky step. "Yes, it's all very wonderful," he said, unconvinced.

Mrs. Yasuo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "_You_ should remember, too!" she snapped, poking his chest. "Remember now!"

Mr. Yasuo sent a panicked glance at Miroku. "Remember _what_, dear?"

"Me! Our past life together!"

Mr. Yasuo frowned, cleaning his glasses. "W-well, how do you know we were together then? Maybe I was married to a beautiful young—"

The ground welcomed him immediately.

Miroku hid a smile, his fingers tracing over the well's brim.

__

'If _you_ _had_ _the_ _jewel_, _what_ _would_ _you_ _wish_ _for_?'

__

'Nothing. _I_ _have_ _almost_ _everything_ _I_ _want_.'

__

'Almost?'

"We... we can't go through?" asked Mrs. Yasuo softly, startling Miroku out of his thoughts. "Only Kagome?"

Miroku nodded, arranging his features into a blasé expression. "No one else can travel through."

"You're positive?"

Cheeks darkening, Miroku coughed and averted his eyes. "I tried."

"Ah," surmised Mr. Yasuo contemplatively. "Anything for science, yes?"

__

Mrs. Yasuo rolled her eyes, swatting at his head. "Yes, dear, he did it all for _science_."

Miroku grinned. "Regardless of my—"

"Stop using big words, son," said both his parents with a sigh.

Mr. Yasuo rubbed his bruised head, pointing at the well. "What about that shard you found at the museum (and by the way, thank you for destroying a priceless artifact)?"

"Shard?" asked a curious voice.

Miroku turned around.

Mr. Higurashi was standing atop the stairs, holding a lantern. Kagome's mother stood next to him, trying to smother him with a coat.

"Ah!" said Mrs. Yasuo, rushing up the woodshed's stairs to clasp Mrs. Higurashi's hands in hers. "_You're_ Kagome's mother!"

Mrs. Higurashi beamed excitedly. "And you must be—"

Wary and oddly embarrassed, Miroku motioned for the old man to join them at the well.

Mr. Higurashi nodded, setting the lantern atop the well covering. "Shard?"

Miroku shook his head. "Not really," he frowned, glancing from the still chattering women to the well. "It looked like one. Kagome said it was Naraku's."

"Does—does that mean he lived?" asked Mr. Yasuo, his eyes widening. "That he's _still_ living?"

Miroku frowned. "I don't know."

"Was he the only one who could create these... shards?"

"I don't know."

"Why wouldn't Kagome-kun be able to come back if the jewel's completed? Would that close the connection? Would she not _want_ to come back? Would she—?"

"I don't know!"

The room was suddenly very silent.

Mrs. Yasuo's features softened. "Higurashi-san," she asked, "perhaps you should tell us what you know."

The old man perked up. "Eh?"

"Our son's told us you've explained everything to him."

"Eh-eh," chuckled Mr. Higurashi, cheeks darkening. "Not everything. No one is capable of knowing everything."

Mr. and Mrs. Yasuo glanced at each other for support, then said, "We'd like to help, if we can."

The old man looked left and right, waiting for the catch. "We~ll, it's a long story..."

"We don't mind."

The old man bounced, clapping his hands. "It all began centuries ago," he said, then backtracked, shaking his head at no one in particular. "Oh, it's only a rumor, of course," he began. "There used to exist a great demon slayer by the name of Midoriko." He patted his whiskers, then continued. "Her death was the birth of the Shikon. The jewel of four souls. Mind you, it wasn't _born_ with four souls."

Miroku rubbed his eyebrow, sitting stiffly. He'd already heard this story and wasn't very comfortable hearing it again, but—

"Years passed," nodded Mr. Higurashi seriously, "and the great warrior Midoriko was to be born again, but this time in the form of a stubborn hanyou. The remaining three souls soon followed. A thief's, a miko's, and a firefly's."

Miroku frowned, glancing from his fascinated parents to the silent well.

__

Where are you?

Mr. Higurashi, ecstatic with all the attention, tugged at his cap and poked the air. "The jewel itself is not as important as the story behind it, but no one quite knows..." he trailed off dramatically, "...what happened."

.

.

****

*

.

.

"What happened...?"

Inuyasha averted his eyes, his face incredibly red.

Sango dropped to her knees in front of him, tears trembling in the corners of her eyes. "What... what happened? What did you _do_, Inuyasha?"

Inuyasha snapped his head at Kagome accusingly. "I told you this was a bad idea!"

The boy in his arms stirred, his face pale and sweaty.

Cautiously, Kagome knelt next to Sango. "Sango-chan, the reason we were looking for Sesshoumaru..."

Kirara pawed at Sango's robes.

"Is he..." began Sango shakily, hand to her mouth.

"He's fine," mumbled Inuyasha, walking past her and pointing his chin at Kaede's hut. "Or he will be. IF you get your act together."

Sango stiffened at the sound of his voice, then took a deep breath and rose. "Inuyasha, stop."

Inuyasha did.

Kagome watched the girl take a wobbly step toward the hanyou, clearly desperate for a glance of her lost little brother.

But bravely, Sango stepped in front of Inuyasha, and shook her head. "The shard is gone?"

"Yeah."

"He can't be controlled by Naraku anymore?"

"I-I don't know."

Sango's features softened. Tentatively, she reached out to touch the boy's clammy forehead.

"Ko... Kohaku?" she whispered incredulously.

Kirara meowed encouragingly.

"Okay, in case I forgot to mention, he's freakin' HEAVY," grumbled Inuyasha, flustered. "Let me take him inside and THEN you can have your little breakdo—_oomph_!"

Sango detached herself from Inuyasha, her bangs falling across her eyes. "Thank you."

"Keh," shrugged Inuyasha indifferently, though his cheeks were suspiciously dark. "Blame Kagome."

And then he was stalking off, carrying Kohaku into Kaede's hut. 

Slowly, Sango's eyes lifted to Kagome's.

"You..." she began, and Kagome's heart skipped a worried beat. "You don't give up, do you?"

Kagome's shoulders relaxed.

Sango nodded, a small, incredulous smile of pure, absolute happiness tugging at her lips. "I think I like that."

Kagome smiled, too, the hand around her heart loosening its grip. "Let's go see him."

So they did.

And later, when Kohaku was bundled up and only Sango and Kagome were left to watch over him and the boy was mumbling how very very sorry he was even in deep sleep, Kagome finally exhaled.

Sango looked at her with a kind smile.

"Don't worry, Kagome-chan. Right now, I don't want anything else," she hummed absentmindedly, Kohaku's head resting in her lap. "Just to keep this—this feeling inside me for a little bit."

Kagome nodded, concern boiling under the surface. "He remembers," she began slowly, carefully.

Sango flinched, tangling her fingers deeper into her brother's hair, brushing a thumb across his dark eyebrow. "I know."

"It's going to be hard, Sango-chan—"

"I know."

"It's never going to be the same—"

"I know."

Kohaku stirred, a pained moan escaping his lips.

Sango's fingers froze, and for a moment, she reverted to watching her brother with a stiff-backed elegance. Slowly, gradually, her posture relaxed. "But I'm not going to give up this time."

.

.

****

*

.

.

__

If I give up now, _then_—_then everything_...

It was still dark out.

Miroku glanced at his palm. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost see a familiar shadow there, but—

It would've been so easy to just give up and forget. Forget about Inuyasha and Naraku and Kagome.

Kagome.

__

Kagome, climbing into his lap. _Kagome, addicted to his touch_.

But it was an unvarying constant, this feeling inside him, this heavy need to see her again. It was ridiculous and not very practical if he was going to be who he wanted to be _before_ he'd seen her sitting in that classroom, looking at him so familiarly.

__

Before he began waking up flustered because he could remember (so vividly) watching her as she closed her eyes and came through and buried her head in his shoulder. Could remember his own voice—that one soft, desperate groan, half lost and muffled by her slippery skin, knowing she wanted him, _liked it_, liked it when he touched her, liked curling up under him and crying, crying, crying his name over and over and over.

And yes, there were moments when the line between then and now blurred so badly he couldn't quite distinguish between memories—whether or not he taught her all about the Riemann tensor, or she him; whether he ever rushed in this life; whether he was ever in a hurry; whether—

But he knew _who_ he was and what he'd done.

Just like he knew his hair was black or his favorite book wasn't very intellectual. The knowledge was just _there_. And most of the time, it didn't matter to him that no one else could understand this. Most of the time, he didn't care or want or _need_ anyone to understand.

Perhaps he'd been entertaining his own brand of denial. Because she was very romanticized and idealized in his memories and he _knew_ she couldn't have possibly been that perfect. And it was dangerous to consider someone _so_ perfect, to compare everyone _else_ to that person, to want to change for her, _because_ of her.

And now, now he could feel it—all of it—culminating on the other side.

There was a giant, towering sense of everything being over soon, and something horribly pessimistic deep in his gut was telling him it wouldn't end well.

In every story that sounded even remotely credible, she'd _died_. Was gone, never mentioned again, _disappeared_.

And there was absolutely _nothing_ he could do to change that.

He didn't know _how_ he knew, but he did. He _knew_ she was going to do something incredibly stupid. Something incredibly self-sacrificing. Like dying with Naraku.

Miroku's blood boiled.

It was selfish and morbid and slightly insane, but if Kagome had to die, he wanted it to be with _him_, not Naraku or Inuyasha or anyone else. Of course, he didn't _want_ her to die. He wanted her to come back so he could tell her that she wasn't perfect. Tell her she wasn't perfect at all.

Tell her she was perfect for him.

"Yo," said a cheerful voice. "I brought you the ink!"

Miroku looked up, yawning. "Did you happen to bring me a pillow, too?"

Souta deflated. "You didn't sleep, Nachan?"

Miroku grinned. "Have you _met_ your grandfather?"

Souta giggled. "Yeah, he does talk a lot." He plopped down next to Miroku, setting the calligraphy set in front of him. "Learned anything new?"

"Yes," mumbled Miroku concisely. "There are thirty-seven stripes on that wall over there."

With a sigh, Souta nudged him. "About Nee-chan."

Instead of answering the boy, Miroku asked, "She's stubborn, right? She wouldn't give up just because some idiot went and died on her, would she?"

Souta's brows drew together in thought. "I don't know. She didn't give up when dad died."

Miroku relaxed.

"But..." continued Souta, "...she was five, so..."

__

'Promise _me_ _you_ _won't_ _use_ _it_. _No_ _matter_ what _happens_, _you_ _won't_.'

Flinching, Miroku stood up, cracking his knuckles. "Let's go."

"What—where?"

"You up for a lesson in quantum mechanics?" asked Miroku determinedly.

Souta blinked. "_What_?"

.

.

****

*

.

.

"What?" shouted Inuyasha angrily, ears twitching. "You don't WANT the Tetsusaiga now?"

Sesshoumaru waved a nonchalant hand, and walked away without turning back. "Toukijin's better."

Inuyasha let out an outraged scream.

.

.

****

*

.

.

"Screaming in my ear won't make me go any faster."

"Sorry," said Souta sheepishly. "But HURRY UP!"

Miroku swiped the brush over the paper and stuck it onto Souta's forehead with a pious expression.

Souta yelped, tearing the ofuda off with a murderous growl. "Nachan!"

Miroku blinked innocently. "Yes?"

"I thought this stuff only worked on demons!"

Chuckling, Miroku slid the ink stone across the granite slab. "Clearly a misconception."

"Hnn," grumped Souta, crossing his arms. "Are you sure you can unseal this thing?"

Miroku paused. "Well, I can _try_." He brought his attention back to the paper. "I _have_ to," he corrected.

"Nachan... I have a bad feeling about this."

"Me, too."

Souta scratched behind his ear. "She wouldn't try to take down this demon guy all by herself, would she?"

Miroku raised a dismayed eyebrow. "She'd be stupid enough to try, yes."

Exasperated, Souta shook his head. "Are we almost ready?"

.

.

****

*

.

.

"Ready!" 

"And excessively perky," complained Inuyasha, poking Sango's head.

Sango slung her weapon over her shoulder, sticking her nose in the air. "Uhn!" she nodded happily, glancing briefly at the hut behind them, then focusing on the path ahead. "Everyone stick to the plan, okay?"

Kagome nodded, a heavy weight settling in her stomach.

"Ye have everything?" asked Kaede, clasping her hands behind her back and observing Kagome a little too carefully.

"Well, except for the shards, yes," chirped Kagome.

Kaede frowned, eyeing her oddly.

"Farewell, Kagome," she said, reaching into her pocket.

Kagome froze, her grin fading.

She quickly glanced at the rest of the group, then leaned closer to Kaede. "I have no choice," she whispered while Sango and Inuyasha bickered.

Kaede's eyes darkened. Silently, she handed Kagome a loosely wrapped fragment of the Shikon. "I know."

Kagome inspected the fabric around the shard with care. She recognized the color and the texture and the lingering sensation of Miroku's white robes.

"For good luck," said Kaede gruffly, then spun on her heel and left.

Kagome shut her eyes tightly, then ran after the old woman and pounced. "Thank you."

"H-hey, what are you doing?" shouted Inuyasha from a distance. "You'll break her back!"

"Ah, I have fight in me yet, Inu-yasha," grumbled Kaede, waving him off and withdrawing into her hut.

Kagome smiled, turning to leave.

"WAIT FOR ME!"

The group paused.

Shippou came flying in their direction, a tiny little knapsack strapped to his back.

"Ready!" he panted, looking up at the other four.

Kirara swatted him backwards.

"What? I want to go, too!" wailed Shippou.

"Shippou-chan," said Kagome softly. _Don't make me say goodbye_, _please_. "It's too dangerous."

Shippou bared his little fangs. "You said I could go wherever you go, Kagom_e_."

Kagome opened her mouth, but Inuyasha interrupted her. "Keh. Fine. Maybe we can feed him to Naraku as an appetizer."

Sango whacked him over the head, nodding at Kirara. "Make sure you stay out of the way, Shippou, okay?"

Shippou squealed, latching onto Kagome's leg.

Kagome winced. "Shippou-chan..." _I don't want you to see_...

"And I brought pocky!" said the little kitsune amiably.

Kagome gave up. 

And as they made their way through the unusually soundless forest, she _tried_ to pretend Miroku was right there, with them, possibly staring at her legs or...

"You know," Shippou told her eventually, "I've been thinking."

Kagome smiled at him. "About?"

"If Naraku was Miroku's grandfather," he babbled, "did that make Miroku part demon?"

Kagome couldn't help it. She giggled.

Shippou giggled, too. "I wonder what kind of demon—"

Sudden rustling of leaves quickly silenced them.

Softly, a ghostly silhouette stumbled into the clearing, her shoulders slumped as if she'd been through a difficult battle, her hair trailing behind her like blackened wings.

"Kikyou!" shouted Inuyasha, rushing to her side.

But Kikyou ignored him completely, making a slow, unsteady beeline for Kagome.

Kagome took an intuitive step back, but Kikyou leaned into her embrace anyway.

"Do you love him now?" she asked, her voice lined with the barest of excitement.

Startled, Kagome answered her automatically, "Yes."

Tiredly, Kikyou looked up. "Does it matter why?"

"No."

Kikyou nodded as though some bigger, more profound, question had been answered. 

"Good," she said, then grabbed Kagome's hands. 

Kagome's eyes widened.

A shard—a big, huge, incredible—shard of the Shikon was digging into her palms. 

Trembling, Kikyou pulled away. "There. I'm giving you a choice."

Kagome's pulse was racing. "H-how?

Kikyou shot her a glare. "Does it really matter now?"

"No..." answered Kagome quietly, then louder, "...no. No, it doesn't!"

Bewildered, Inuyasha scratched his head with a wary expression, opening his mouth to ask—

"I didn't do it for you, Inuyasha," murmured Kikyou. 

Inuyasha bristled, opening his mouth again—

Kikyou glanced at Kagome, then lifted her hand with a quiet grace, calling for her Shinidamachuu.

"You're missing one," she said coolly, letting herself fall into the soulstealers' willowy arms.

Kagome watched her fade away, then dug around for the rest of the shards, clenching her fist around them.

She closed her eyes tightly, concentrating hard, and thanking whatever god the shards were already purified. Almost instinctively, the two fragments came together, and Kagome opened her eyes.

This.

This thing was the source of all their misery and pain and loss. But it looked so innocent and beautiful and harmless just resting there in her outstretched palm, glittering in the sunshine, so close to granting someone a wish—

Frowning, Kagome tucked it away.

__

One missing.

"I wonder where he's keeping it," mused Shippou, looking ahead.

"Right here," came an amused voice.

All heads turned to the source.

Naraku—alone—stood behind them, a small shard showcased between his thumb and forefinger.

A storm of thin branches slashed across the air, cutting through everything and slicing at their skin.

Kagome hugged Shippou closer to her, wincing and wondering if her back would _ever_ recover.

__

Then again, _not like it really matters at this point_...

"Interesting," sighed Naraku theatrically. "You've even swayed the undead."

Kagome lowered Shippou to the ground, clenching her fists. "Not here, Naraku," she said firmly.

Bored, Naraku raised an eyebrow. "Giving _me_ orders now, are you?"

Inuyasha charged at him, only to be knocked backwards by some invisible force.

Except... it wasn't _that_ invisible.

"_Kagura_," spat Inuyasha, wiping the blood from his lips.

Kagura gave a deep, suffering sigh, emerging from the darkness of the forest. "It remembers my name," she drawled. "How charming."

Inuyasha was shaking with rage and the Tetsusaiga was drawn and buzzing with restrained power and—

"Inuyasha, _stop_," hissed Sango.

Inuyasha pulled the Tetsusaiga back with barely repressed fury. "He doesn't play fair, why should we?" he grumbled, glaring at Kagome.

Kagome found herself at a loss for words. 

__

It's..._ real_. 

It was real and, ultimately, someone had to die. And Kagome wouldn't—_couldn't_—let it be one of her friends.

"Nara—"

Something big and strong crashed through the treetops, skidding across the ground and leaving a dusty trail behind it.

"Kouga-kun!"

Kouga flashed her a grin, clicking his finger. "Hi."

Seething, Inuyasha exploded. "What the fuck—didn't we tell you to STAY AWAY!?"

Unperturbed, Kouga shrugged. "Heh," he grinned. "Like I'd listen to you, dog turd."

Kagome rubbed her temples. Her plan was so... not going well.

"Hey, I'm not here to fight," defended Kouga quickly. And then, before Kagome could even blink, he'd scooped her up in his arms. "I'm here to let YOU GUYS fight!"

And he was _off_, snatching Kagome right before their eyes.

"Kouga-kun—!" began Kagome, the wind tossing her hair over his furry shoulder.

"Look," he interrupted, not slowing down, "I'm not an idiot. And I won't let you sacrifice yourself."

Kagome frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know," he admitted, leaning into the wind. "But I'm pretty sure you thought you had something up your sleeve." He scowled. "Except, Naraku's not an idiot, either, Kagome."

Kagome's features softened. "Kouga-kun... take me to the well, please."

Kouga shook his head haughtily. "Nuh uh. I'm taking you somewhere he'll never find you." Pause. "You have the Shikon?"

Kagome nodded, raising a hand to protect herself from the gusts of wind. "He still has one shard."

"Shit."

"Kouga-kun, please. The well."

Kouga bared his fangs. "No."

"He'd find us anywhere."

"No."

Suddenly angry, Kagome dug her fingers into his arm. "It has to end."

Kouga slowed down imperceptibly. "Not like this."

"It's going to end okay, I promise," she murmured. 

Unconvinced, Kouga slowed to a gradual stop. "Define okay."

Kagome pried his fingers off, waiting for him to lower her to the ground and realizing, with no little amount of surprise, they were—

—near the well.

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, a warm kind of affection unfurling in her chest.

Kouga harrumphed. "They'll be here soon."

"Good."

Kouga gave her a worried side-glance. "Why?"

Kagome kept smiling.

She knew what she had to do. There was only one thing she _could_ do now.

She had no choice.

Even with Kikyou's help, she couldn't—

Slowly, the rest of her group trickled into the clearing. First Inuyasha, looking bloodthirsty, then Sango and Kirara and Shippou, and then—

"Let me have the wolf," hummed Kagura, fanning herself airily as though attending a luncheon.

"Always so eager to play with him," chided Naraku darkly. "Should I worry?"

Kagura seemed caught off guard for the briefest of moments, then straightened, pasting a lazy smile. "Oh, I promise this is the last time."

She slid past him and was soon a blur, accidentally brushing up against Kagome's shoulder in passing and whispering, "You don't have long. Make the best of it."

And then she and Kouga were off, fighting and screaming at each other.

Startled, Kagome glanced at the wind witch, then back at Inuyasha and Sango, who'd slipped into position.

__

What... _what was _that?

The scar on her back pulsed.

But she took a step closer to Naraku anyway, opening up her palm and showing him the shard.

__

I'm so tired.

Naraku came closer. 

"Me, too," she thought she'd heard him say, but it must have been the wind.

The last shard dropped onto her palm and, without a word, she closed her hands, bringing them to her chest.

With a warm trickle of power, the jewel was complete and she _knew_.

And when she opened her eyes, Naraku was looking at her, almost sweetly.

He extended an arm, and, hesitantly, she took it.

__

I can't do this.

__

I can't wish for his death.

The Shikon heated her palm, trembling with an eager sort of power, tempting her, telling her to just do it, end it, let the jewel take them both because there was nothing left for her here or there and—

An image—an image of Miroku looking away as their class was officially dismissed somewhere in the background...

__

'Try _to_ _remember_ _when_ _you_ _go_ _back_.'

Kagome's eyes widened wildly.

__

Miroku.

Miroku, _not_ _Kazuo_.

"I have the Shikon, Naraku," she whispered, then straightened with determination.

__

Slight change _of_ _plans_!

"Doesn't matter," he murmured, toying with a lock of her hair. "You'll give it to me soon anyway."

Kagome glanced at him. "I'm not going to give you anything."

Naraku frowned, irritated. "You don't have a choice. My flesh and blood—"

"Naraku," replied Kagome, taking a step closer. "There is no 'perfect vessel' for you to take." _Yay, 20th century_. "There isn't."

Naraku's lips thinned into a disbelieving line, one clawed finger sliding down Kagome's abdomen. "Liar," he growled, but sounded rather uncertain.

"You don't know anything about me," she said quietly, preparing to take one _gigantic_ leap of faith. A thin branch sliced across her back, tearing through her uniform. Then, louder, she continued, "You don't know where I came from, where I'm going, what I'm thinking right now..." Fists clenched, she rose. "You don't—"

Naraku hummed, tilting his head. "You're thinking..." he began softly, his breath tickling her forehead, "you're thinking the taijiya will not miss." He waved a nonchalant hand.

A surprised gasp came from somewhere behind him—Sango's.

Her weapon fell to the ground.

"You're thinking the wolf will be fast enough this time."

His arms wrapped around her suddenly, holding her a little too tightly and—

—suddenly, the scenery changed. They were closer to the well.

"You're thinking the dog will be strong enough—"

Kagome closed her eyes, willing him to bring them closer, closer—just a little bit more—

"You're thinking you can somehow trick me," he smirked, the back of his legs touching the well's wall.

Kagome smiled.

"Not quite," she whispered, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pushed with all her weight and pain and hope, surprising him into stumbling back and—

—tripping over the well's brim.

__

Please be waiting for me.

.

.

****

*

.

.

"Kazuo-kun, _please_!"

"Yuka-san, I assure you—" began Miroku impatiently, "Kagome-san is perfectly fine—"

"But we haven't seen her in _ages_!" squeaked Yuka harshly. "And as her boyfriend, you should at least—"

Miroku's gut twisted most peculiarly. "I'm not—"

Hojou shook his fist dramatically. "Yasuo-san, this is in_to_lerable!"

Souta groaned, looking up at Miroku and trying to close the shed door before someone peeked in there. "Everyone! Nee-chan is—"

"—back yet?" asked Mr. Yasuo, poking his head out of the shrine.

Miroku groaned.

Why was Buddha not cooperating?

All Miroku wanted was to finish the damn ofuda and possibly, you know, defy time and space before that silly little girl did something really stupid. Unfortunately, it seemed _everyone_ chose this particular moment to show up and pester him about Kagome. And he promised himself, if (when, damn it, _when_) he saw her again, he would—

"Hey, what's that?" asked Erri suddenly, pointing at the shed door.

Which was ajar.

Miroku snapped his head around to glare at Souta.

"Eep! Nothing! It's nothing!" said Souta, embarrassed, trying to inconspicuously sneak away.

"What's nothing?" asked Mr. Yasuo, pushing past Ayumi and sticking his head into the woodshed. "Oh, hey, you're almost done! Go get her, son!"

Souta smacked his head.

Kagome's four friends exchanged suspicious glances.

"We've had enough! Is she in here?" wailed one of them, running into the shed. The others followed. "We DEMAND to see our Kagome-chan!"

Hojou scratched his head, glancing at the spider webs on the ceiling. "Yes—did she—did she... survive the Ebola?"

"_Ebola_!" gasped Mr. Yasuo worriedly, inspecting one of the drying ofuda.

Miroku groaned.

__

If ever there was a time for divine intervention—

The ground shook.

Miroku's eyes widened.

"What the—"

The ground shook again. Only, this time, it didn't _stop_ shaking.

Miroku pushed the group behind him out of instinct, then spun on his heel to look at the well. 

And the well...

...the well... was...

"HOLY BUDDHA OF CORN!" shouted Hojou, pointing wildly at the crumbling layers of stone.

Miroku's heart slammed against his ribcage as he jumped down the short flight of stairs.

He could sense... something. Something he hadn't felt in a lifetime.

__

Naraku's miasma.

"Get out!" he commanded, watching helplessly as the lip of the well practically _melted_ and fused around the bright pink lacework of _light _surrounding it. Miroku took a breathless step back. 

The roof of the woodshed seemed transparent, turning to dust and sand, and raining all around him, disintegrating the ofuda he'd strewn about. He spared a quick glance behind to assure himself everyone was out and safe, then took one, two, three steps closer, peering down into the painfully bright depth of the well.

Miroku inhaled deeply, an angry scowl marring his features.

__

Kagome.

Kagome was with _him_.

A surge of jealousy unlike any he'd felt before lanced through him.

"'Perished together into the depths of _hell_,' huh?" he shouted angrily, ducking a particularly sharp piece of debris.

Outside, Mr. Yasuo was dodging a flying fusion of brick and branch. "HELL—WELL... same difference!" he shouted back. "Japanese is a very confusing language, you know!"

Miroku ignored him, knuckles gripping the well's rim, turning white from the pressure.

"I couldn't fall for a _ballerina_, no~," he muttered to no one in particular, dusting off his bangs, "I just had to go for the crazy jinxed m—"

Miroku's heart stopped.

A sudden burst of power shot upwards, blowing the remains of the roof completely off.

And there, floating in the middle of this chaos, was Kagome.

__

Holding Naraku, her eyes tightly shut, long hair dancing around them both, oblivious.

Miroku lost it.

"Kagome!" he snarled, feeling a thrum of old power—his neglected _Houriki_—pulse through his palms. 

Kagome twitched as though she'd heard him, but her eyes remained closed.

With a small whimper, she let go of Naraku and they both plunged to the ground, clearing a passage through the accumulating rubble. 

Miroku was going to rush and check on her, honest, he was, but... his legs just. Wouldn't. Listen.

Kagome stirred, opening her eyes dazedly.

"Wh—" her eyes fell on Miroku, standing there in his uniform, looking at her like he'd never expected to see her again.

Which he hadn't.

"Miroku?" she whispered, looking for _something_.

Miroku froze.

"_Miroku_," she repeated.

And that's when it hit him.

She finally _recognized_ him.

Something very heavy and terrified seemed to evaporate inside his chest, and then he was—

.

.

****

*

.

.

—grabbing her roughly, strong arms pulling her close to his chest, long fingers wrapping around her.

She felt like she'd been swallowed by a giant, steel pillow and thought all her ribs would crack but he was clinging to her so desperately she dared not move. 

"Kagome," he whispered into her hair. His arms slid up, hands cupping her face. His grip tightened, body molding to hers. "Kagome," he repeated incredulously, astonishment lacing his voice.

"You waited for me," she mumbled tiredly, burrowing into his dusty chest.

His shoulders shook with repressed laughter. "Conceited."

"Very," she replied desperately, trying to melt into him. 

Because—

Because it was _Miroku_. It was _really_ him, not anyone else and she was stupid for ever doubting it and _knew_ and no one would ever take him away again—

Abruptly, the well came to life, glowing with a white heat, flakes scraping off its charred walls and—

Inuyasha tumbled out. 

"WHERE IS HE!" 

And then a soft, desperate grunt, followed by a bushy tail.

"Shippou-chan!" yelled Kagome, pushing away from Miroku and crushing the little kitsune close to her chest. "_How_?"

Petrified, Shippou looked at her, practically on the verge of hyperventilating. "I don't know, I just wanted—"

__

A _sickening_ _crunch_ _of_ _bone_.

All heads turned toward the noise.

Kagome's heart skipped a beat.

__

Naraku. 

__

I forgot about Naraku.

But Naraku wasn't quite paying them any attention. He was staring at his arms, clearly out of his element, puzzled by the strange scents and sounds. The skin of his left arm bulged and inflated morbidly, hanging off his bones like a diseased patch of flesh, stretching into a long, thin thread.

And then it _burst_.

Instinctively, Kagome averted Shippou's eyes, trying to ignore the slimy texture of _everything_ around her. 

"He doesn't have the Shikon," whispered Shippou urgently. "Where's the _Shikon_?"

Frantically, Kagome patted herself down. "I—"

—_lost_ _it_.

Inuyasha whirled around, torn between wanting the jewel and wanting to tear Naraku's throat out.

"Fuck the jewel," he growled finally, drawing the Tetsusaiga, "I'm going for the fucking JUGULAR!"

"Houshi," was all Naraku said, looking past Inuyasha with an odd, almost relieved look in his eyes. But Kagome blinked and the relief was gone, only to be replaced by fury and pain and... boredom.

"Interesting sorcery," he drawled. "Now give me the Shikon."

Kagome didn't know who made the first move, but within a second, Inuyasha's sword was wedged between Naraku's ribs, and Naraku's hands were crushing Inuyasha's windpipe. 

"Fuck," muttered Miroku, obviously torn between letting Inuyasha get his revenge, and getting his _own_. 

"Where's the jewel?" whispered Shippou frantically, his eyes widening incredulously as he finally spotted Miroku. "Ka—"

A low-pitched roar interrupted him.

Inuyasha took a nauseated step back, covering his face with his sleeve. "...the _hell_—"

Naraku's robes parted, slipping to the ground with a gentle rustle of cloth.

The scar on Kagome's back pulsed violently.

"The jewel," growled Naraku through gritted teeth. "Now."

"Whatever you do, make sure he doesn't get the jewel!" shouted Miroku. He grabbed Kagome's wrist and rambled, "Find the jewel and make a wish. Any wish. It doesn't matter. As long as the jewel's gone."

Kagome panted, trying to keep up. "Is that the catalyst?"

"Uhn," nodded Miroku, dodging a plank. "Where is it?"

"I-I don't know. I haven't been able to—feel the shards," admitted Kagome sheepishly.

Miroku froze. "What? Why?"

Naraku and Inuyasha's battle resumed in the background.

Kagome blushed furiously. "Um... because of you."

Thunderstruck, Miroku made her look at him. "Me? What did _I_ do?"

Despite the immediate threat on her life, Kagome turned a dozen shades of red. "Um, you know how I could... um, pass through that cursed forest after we... um... you know..."

Miroku's eyes widened. Then, slowly, a horribly proud smirk was quirking his lips upward. "Was I _that_ good?" He looked ridiculously pleased with himself, then touched two fingers to his chin. "Wait, does that mean Kikyou and Inuyasha never—"

"_Concentrate_!" screamed Kagome, feeling as though nothing between them had changed. At all.

Inuyasha flew past her, skidding to a halt amidst a pile of smoldering debris. "SHIKON, YOU IDIOTS!"

Naraku, thrumming with borrowed power, and seemingly towering over them all, seemed to agree. "I can still finish you off first," he murmured cockily and lunged.

Kagome cringed, then, with sudden panic, remembered.

"Shippou-chan!"

She glanced around frantically, searching the wreckage and spotting a fluffy little silhouette digging through the ashes.

"Shippou-chan—"

"GOT IT!" he shouted, darting past Inuyasha and Naraku, straight into—

Kagome's arms.

"What should I do, Kagome? What-should-I-do?" he asked, looking excited and terrified at the same time.

"Hand it over," said a cool, calm voice.

Naraku, looking unharmed, was watching them, holding Inuyasha by his red haori.

Shippou twitched anxiously, then jumped out of Kagome's arms and ran for it.

"I want—I want—"

—and the rest was cut off by a deafening cry of outrage and... something _else_.

And suddenly, there were demons crawling out of... Naraku, rupturing his skin and bursting forth—gnarled and excited; a whole hive of angry red eyes and swishing tails.

Kagome forced herself to look around, horrified with the sharp, pungent scent and the sound of tearing flesh and—

There were no fireworks or a magical shower of glitter or... _anything_.

Just Shippou, staring at his empty little hands.

Nothing had changed. He was still Shippou. Miroku was still Miroku. Inuyasha was still Inuyasha.

Naraku was still alive.

"WHAT DID YOU WISH FOR?" screamed Inuyasha, too shocked to even finish the spider off.

Shippou's lips parted as though he couldn't quite believe he'd made the wish and the jewel went. Away. Just. Like. That. "I—"

"SHIPPOU!"

The mangled hive of hissing demons swerved, scattering above their heads and racing off toward Tokyo.

Shippou eeped and bolted, blocked by a half-burnt wall.

Seething, Inuyasha chased after him. "TELL ME!"

Terrified, Shippou dug into a corner, his little face blackened by the ashes. "IwantedKagometobehappy!"

Inuyasha skidded to a halt, bristling. "I-IDIOT! That's the stupidest wish ev—"

Shippou bolted again. "I couldn't think of anything else, wah!" He tripped over a dead demon, and gave up. "Because Kagome won't—Kagome won't be happy unless _we're_ happy!"

Inuyasha froze, blinking.

Kagome couldn't quite feel anything below her neck. Miroku glanced at her, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well," he said smoothly, "at least it wasn't a lifetime supply of candy."

Kagome couldn't help it. She giggled, but the sound died in her throat as—

Naraku rose.

He seemed drained of color, his face sunken and sickly, his back muscles jutting out horribly, the spidery scars around them throbbing like a bloodstream, pumping with energy and—

"Where?" he asked in an odd, hollow voice. "Where are you hiding it?" 

Inuyasha's grip on the Tetsusaiga tightened. "How is he not dead yet?!" he shouted, glancing at Kagome.

Kagome's eyes widened frantically. "I—I don't know! Maybe—maybe because—"

"It's not Onigumo's body," said Miroku calmly, grabbing her wrist and pushing her back. Quickly, he sent an almost confused look at his right palm. "He borrowed the prince's body before he killed Sango's family," he muttered. "The prince was healthy. Onigumo was not."

Wary, Kagome tried to pull him back, too. Because even without the jewel, Naraku... Naraku still had the body of a prince, the heart of a thief, and the memories of a demon, and she _wasn't_ going to let him tell Miroku—

"Fortunately," hummed Naraku distractedly, "I kept my original flesh long enough, houshi."

The air grew thick with tension.

"What's he talking about?" asked Miroku, frowning.

Inuyasha growled, apparently not very surprised to see him again.

"What the hell does it MATTER? We're not here to chat!" he snarled, then lunged, only to be blocked by another sickening thud. A demon, shapeless and grabby, plopped to the ashen ground, attached to Naraku's back by a long, greasy cord.

"Shit, I'm going to need a serious shaw-rr after this," grumbled Inuyasha resignedly, then leapt forward, tangling his sword with the creature's boneless limbs.

Naraku slumped against a charred wall, exhaling as his spawn snapped off its cord and dove for Inuyasha.

"I gave you everything," he began, a dismayed sigh trembling upon his lips. "I gave you life, gave you the miko, gave you death when you asked for it." He drew a deep, shaky breath. "And you couldn't even repay me properly."

Miroku froze.

Inuyasha grunted in the background, colliding with the spawn's stringy cobweb.

"One thing," continued Naraku quietly, his cheeks sagging and hollowing out, pulling at his eyelids and tugging the skin down. "I asked for one thing."

Bewildered, Miroku glanced at Kagome and Shippou.

Kagome shrank back. "Ignore him," she whispered. "Please?"

But Naraku's voice grew stronger as his body weakened. "One purpose. You. Had. One. Purpose!" Outraged breath. "You're worthless!"

Miroku glanced at his hand, then back at Naraku.

Inuyasha tumbled through what was once the shed door.

The demon screeched.

"What's he talking about?" asked Miroku carefully.

Kagome shied away.

"He never mentioned him, did he?" asked Naraku, red eyes glittering with malice. "Never by name, never in detail."

"Who?"

"Your father."

Miroku's shoulders stiffened. "My father never mentioned _who_?"

But Naraku seemed to have forgotten what he was talking about. "And the Saimyoushou could never quite finish you off, could they?"

Kagome cringed, almost able to sense the phantom insects buzzing around Naraku. "Stop it."

Naraku shut his eyes tightly, gnawing on his bottom lip as another large demon left his body. "Stop what?" he gritted out, his eyes glassy and narrowed, hiding beneath furrowed eyebrows. 

Kagome gasped. A stinging sensation moved from her eyes to her throat, the small of her back feeling sore and itching most irritably. "Stop. Toying. With. Him."

Looking so very lost, Miroku pulled her into him protectively. "Kagome—"

"He tricked her," she breathed angrily, wishing she could just scratch her entire back off, "he tricked Hotaru and stole something really important from Daichi and—"

Miroku tucked her head under his jaw and asked slowly, "What?"

"You," said Naraku glibly, trying to stand up, the skin on his face pulling down, revealing bleeding teeth and gums.

Kagome had the sensation of falling and collapsing in on herself, but Miroku rotated her in his arms, trying to find out for himself.

"You _knew _this?" she expected him to ask, and prepared herself for his disgust and anger, but he looked at her with relief and regret and asked, in a quiet, concerned voice, "You don't... you don't mind?"

Kagome's eyes shot open, whole body aching with some unidentifiable weakness.

A pained scream interrupted her reply.

Demons, mostly small and limber, were pouring out now, depleting Naraku of... everything.

Inuyasha stabbed the littered ground with his sword, panting. "Okay, three really nasty demons down... ten thousand left." With narrowed eyes, he glanced at Naraku. "Is he dead _yet_?"

Miroku let go of Kagome, looking dazed. "He's my...?"

Surprisingly, it was Shippou who answered him. "Yeah, but it doesn't count! Right, Kagome?"

Kagome shook her head, unable to tear her gaze away from Naraku. She didn't want to pity him, but...

..._to_ _have_ _lived_ _such_ _a_ _half_-_life_...

Naraku coughed violently, wiping blood from his lips, his eyes drained of pigment.

Kagome choked on a sob, and started for him—

—and was immediately pulled back.

By Inuyasha. And Miroku. And Shippou.

"Idiot!" roared Inuyasha. "He's still dangerous! Just let him die!"

Distraught, Kagome lowered her head. "I can't."

Miroku's grip on her tightened most painfully.

Naraku slumped to the ground. "This Onigumo inside," he rasped, "I want him out."

Slowly, Inuyasha let go of Kagome, drawing his Tetsusaiga. He sent a questioning glance at Miroku. Miroku seemed to contemplate deeply for a moment, then nodded as though giving the hanyou some unspoken sort of consent.

Inuyasha locked eyes with Naraku.

"For Kikyou," he said vindictively, but looked almost sympathetic.

And as his sword drove through Onigumo's heart, Naraku smiled.

And then, with a soft gasp, Kagome dropped to her knees, her horizons blurring and rippling and colliding against this crumbling reality until—

Sluggishly, with almost practiced indifference, her fingers went to the small of her back.

"Gone," she said, feeling the almost unfamiliar smoothness there. "It's gone."

Miroku dropped next to her, touching his forehead to hers.

Inuyasha wiped the Tetsusaiga off on what remained of Naraku (only his dark robes and a necklace made of fangs), then pointed it at Miroku and Kagome. "Get up."

So they did.

Despondent and pensive and lost in their own thoughts, they shuffled out of the demolished woodshed, Shippou securely snuggled in Kagome's arms.

They didn't speak for the longest time, stepping over the debris and making their way to the shrine.

Eventually, Shippou cleared his throat, evidently intent on taking their minds off... everything.

"So, this is your time, huh, Kagome?"

Kagome patted his head, glancing about. "Mm. It's usually less... trashed."

Miroku paused in his tracks, rubbing his chin in thought. "How'd you get through, Shippou?"

Shippou glanced at him with the tiniest amount of fear. "I... jumped?"

Aggravated, Inuyasha looked to the heavens. "I can't believe that was _it_," he grumbled. "I mean, all these months of thinking that bastard's some big threat to us and then he just goes and dies like THAT?"

Shippou crossed his arms buoyantly. "You're welcome!"

Inuyasha bonked him on the head.

Kagome threw him a sharp glare, wrapping her arms tighter around the little kitsune.

"And I can't believe you wasted my wish, runt," continued Inuyasha, eyes narrowed to vengeful slits.

Shippou bristled. "Well, what were you going to WISH for ANYWAY? Kikyou's alive (sort of) and Kohaku's okay and Miroku's obviously HERE, so—"

Unobtrusively, Miroku cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, I'm surprised your wish was granted, Shippou."

"Why?"

"Your wish," began Miroku, "however chivalrous it may seem, was still... selfish." He frowned. "And I was under the impression the Shikon wouldn't accede to self-indulgence."

Kagome tried very hard not to touch him and see if he was really, really, _really_ real. "Miroku..."

..._there_ _is_ _no_ _such_ _thing_ _as_ _an_ _unselfish_ _wish_.

Miroku turned.

"Do you know?" he asked.

"Kikyou told me," she replied.

"Everything?" 

"I think."

"About Midoriko?"

Kagome nodded.

"EXCUSE ME," shouted Inuyasha. "But no one told ME anything." He gestured, looking suspenseful. "So, START already!"

Kagome twisted her fingers, adjusting her hold on Shippou. "Um... where to start... um..."

Inuyasha tapped his foot.

"Well, you know how the jewel was created, right?" she asked delicately. Inuyasha nodded impatiently. "And you know who Midoriko was, ri...ght...?"

Inuyasha snorted with disgust. "Get to the stuff I _don't_ know."

Kagome grimaced, opening her mouth—

"The jewel was never going to grant you your wish, Inuyasha," said Miroku. "(Especially not you.) It wasn't even that important. (You were.) It was just leeching off of everyone's anger and hate and memories. (Mostly yours.) It wasn't a conscious decision for Midoriko. (Or you.) She didn't want—"

"So why the HELL did we spend all this time LOOKING for it?" snarled Inuyasha, face heating up.

Miroku grinned. "Good timber does not grow with ease." He gave them his patented Mona Lisa half-smile. "The stronger the wind, the stronger the trees."

"What the hell is THAT supposed to mean?"

Actually, Kagome wanted to know, too—

But Miroku just smiled like he knew something none of them did. "Let's just say this—all of this—is just a preface to your story."

Kagome's eyes widened. "Wow, really?" she bounced.

"Un."

"And what about the rest of us?"

Miroku's features darkened peculiarly. "Not written yet."

Kagome exhaled, completely unable to recall the feeling she'd had only hours ago—the desperation and hopelessness and the fear. After all, she'd been—she'd been ready to...

...be really, really stupid!

"By the way, does Inuyasha know?" asked Miroku, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

"God, no!" screamed Kagome, clamping a hand over Miroku's mouth.

"Wha?" blinked Inuyasha. "Know what? What?"

'You used to be a girl,' sounded like something someone with a deathwish would say, and Kagome was really not into that. Anymore.

"Um, you see," she rushed to explain (and distract), "the jewel was born from Midoriko's wish to keep fighting."

"Which would explain why the shards were so easily corrupted," added Miroku with a small nod. "The jewel itself was born out of despair, and shaped by—"

"—more despair," finished Kagome.

Inuyasha and Shippou exchanged glances.

"So anyway," said Inuyasha flippantly after a short pause, "you're Naraku's spawn?"

Kagome froze, chancing a distressed glance at Miroku.

But Miroku was looking at the shrine up ahead. "Evidently."

Inuyasha scoffed derisively. "And that doesn't bother you at all?"

Miroku looked ready to snap, but schooled his features. "Why fight something you can't change?"

Kagome's heart ached for him.

"And he's dead now," continued Inuyasha stubbornly.

"Un."

"And you didn't get your revenge."

"Un."

"And we're all here now."

"Un."

Kagome looked up. "And how exactly is that possible? I mean, I thought _I'd_ have trouble passing through, but—" her gaze shifted to Shippou, who immediately began fidgeting.

Oddly enough, Miroku averted his eyes. "I was trying to unseal the well," he elaborated piously. "Perhaps I was trying a little too hard."

Startled, Kagome turned her head. "What? Why—why would you want to—want to go through?"

Miroku waved a nonchalant hand. "Oh, no particular reason. You... forgot your lunch last time, so..."

Kagome paused, something wonderfully light and peaceful spreading through her flesh.

"We're done," she said, astonished.

Miroku smiled. "Uhn."

"Completely done."

"Uhn."

Inuyasha tapped her on the head. "Not completely," he said, rolling up his sleeves and shooing Kagome away. "Monk."

Kagome's eyes widened in horror.

"Inuyasha," greeted Miroku amiably.

Kagome's heart threatened to jump out and run away.

"I _knew_ it wasn't that easy to kill you," said Inuyasha, sniffing. He cracked his knuckles with a predatory grin. "Time to fix that!"

And then—

—he pounced.

Miroku grinned happily, hands automatically reaching for the nearest stick and bringing it under Inuyasha's jaw. _Hard_.

"You knew?" he asked, knuckles turning white.

Inuyasha's claws twitched mere centimeters from Miroku's face. "I have a _nose_, moron."

Miroku paused thoughtfully, then grunted and, with some effort, flipped Inuyasha over. "You could have said something, you know." He stood up and dusted off his pants, nodding at Kagome. "She's got some scary collections in her closet."

Kagome flushed, trying to quickly change the topic. "Ah! Um, Shippou! Shippou-chan! Did you know, too?"

Shippou gave a small nod. "Sort of. I mean, not that he was reincarnated, but that he was around, one way or another because—"

"Would you SHUT UP ALREADY and let me kill him!" growled Inuyasha, reaching for Miroku.

"Kagome...?"

Absentmindedly, Kagome turned and—

"Mama!"

Mrs. Higurashi wiped her hands on her apron with a nervous smile, emerging from the shrine's doorway.

Kagome tensed. "I'm, um, back?"

"Were you gone? I hadn't noticed," said Mrs. Higurashi, but sounded very broken, choking on great, big sobs and hiccuping occasionally as she crushed Kagome to her.

Kagome's fingers clenched around her mother's skirt, Shippou trapped between the two.

Inuyasha made a strange, strangled noise and stomped off; Miroku looked away, bangs hiding his eyes; Souta poked his head to see what the commotion was all about; and Shippou—

"Kagome," he coughed, almost shyly, tugging at her sleeve.

Mrs. Higurashi's eyes widened. A small cry of complete and utter delight slipped off her lips and—

"Is this—?" she asked, clearly trying to restrain herself from smothering the little kitsune.

"Shippou-chan—this is my mom," said Kagome happily. "And that's Souta."

Souta waved.

Shippou nodded, cheeks flushed, little nails digging into Kagome's arm. "Um, anyway... guess it's time for me and Inuyasha to go back..."

Kagome giggled wildly.

Miroku looked like he was trying very hard not to smile, then came to her rescue. "Higurashi-san," he began, bowing at Mrs. Higurashi. "Shippou-chan made a wish," he explained courtly, while Shippou shrank in on himself. "So, we're stuck with him."

Shippou bared his fangs. "You—"

"Hmm," mused Souta, cradling his elbow deep in thought, "if Nee-chan moves in with Nachan, then Shippou-chan can have her room—" he trailed off as Mrs. Higurashi sent him a rabid 'My Daughter, Living With a Boy? Never!' death glare.

"O-or," amended Souta hastily, "I could share my room? Eheh..."

Shippou looked confused. "Kagome, what are they talking about?"

Kagome ruffled his little bangs. "Shippou-chan... why did you make that wish for me? Someone else could have used it more—"

Shippou clamped both his hands on her mouth. "Kagom_e_, rules are made to be broken," he quoted her cheerfully.

"Ah! _Cute_!" shrieked Mrs. Higurashi tearfully. 

Shippou gave Kagome and Miroku a startled look, his gaze landing on a curious Souta.

"Ah!" cried Souta, clapping his hands with glee. "I've always wanted a brother!" He threw a covert glance at Miroku. "_Younger_ brother! That doesn't cheat all the time!"

"Maa," sighed Miroku theatrically. "Who said Shippou was going to stay with you? I have as much right to him as Kagome."

Shippou blinked, then snickered adorably. "I'm glad you're not dead, but _Kagome_ would never eat all of my pocky."

"I've only done that once!" defended Miroku.

Shippou pursed his lips.

"Perhaps twice," amended Miroku. "Possibly three t—that is, you're basing your entire future on _pocky_, Shippou?" he asked, feigning hurt.

Shippou cocked a tiny eyebrow.

"Good point," acquiesced Miroku with a wink.

Overwhelmed, Shippou watched him for a long moment, then—

—bolted and attached himself to Miroku's leg, clinging to it with his eyes tightly shut.

"_Really_ glad you're not dead," he said, embarrassed, then—

—ran away before Miroku could even blink.

Kagome giggled, though her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Mama, can you—can make sure he doesn't fall asleep in the... dryer or something?"

Mrs. Higurashi's eyes were sparkling with merriment and... an odd... almost... deranged look.

"Oh, certainly!" she shrieked a little too eagerly, startling even herself, her hands twitching impatiently.

Kagome sincerely wished Shippou well in the next hour.

"The kid's a goner," grinned Souta, stretching. "Yo, Nachan. Your parents are digging around the shrine, and Kagome, your friends are... um, freaking out. So. Damage control time?"

Kagome glanced at the brooding shadow skulking near the demolished woodshed. "In a minute, Souta."

Quietly, Kagome made her way to Inuyasha, keeping her head down. The one wall that had survived hid him from her, and—

"Going alone?" asked Miroku casually, suddenly walking by her side.

Kagome fumed, poking his chest. "Don't you read manga? This should be private!"

Miroku narrowed his eyes, looking oddly possessive. "Exactly. Except, in manga, this would be the part where he snatches you away forever."

There were... butterflies... a gazillion butterflies fluttering somewhere in her stomach, filling her with this indescribable... joy.

"You're jealous?"

Miroku scoffed. "I'm never jealous."

"Oh."

Upset and strangely disappointed, Kagome placed a hand on his chest, eyebrows twitching. "Then wait here, jerk," she grumbled, spun around, and marched up to where Inuyasha was sulking.

"Are you sure you don't want me to kill him? Just a little?" asked Inuyasha, ears suspiciously flat.

Kagome smiled and—

—burrowed into his warm chest.

"One more for the road, Inuyasha," she smiled gently, burying her fingers in that silver mane of his, then quickly stepped away, her skirt covered in his blood. "_Sit_."

Inuyasha crashed to the ground. 

"Bitch," he mumbled, grinning.

Kagome knelt next to him with a serious expression. "You're going to be happy, right?"

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, still unable to move. "Now that you're out of my hair, yeah."

Kagome smiled, pinching his ears. "And you're going to be nice to your brother, won't you?"

"FUCK NO!" 

Kagome giggled. "And you'll help Sango-chan if she needs help."

"She won't need help."

"And you're going to tell Kouga-kun how you _really_ feel about him?" she teased.

Inuyasha exploded, practically airborne within a second.

"Yeah, right after I KILL him!" he snarled, pointing a shaky claw at Kagome. Suddenly, his features relaxed into a noncommittal expression. "Monk," he greeted casually.

Kagome stiffened. "He didn't leave, did he?"

Inuyasha shook his head.

"He's leaning against the wall, isn't he?" she asked, trying not to sound too giddy.

Inuyasha nodded.

"Grinning like an idiot?" she asked.

Inuyasha nodded.

"Um... h-he _is_ wearing clothes, right?" asked Kagome, suddenly petrified. "Right...? Inuyasha—Inuyasha, ANSWER me!"

Inuyasha gave her a disgusted glance and then—

A strong, possessive hand was resting on the small of her back, and a voice, exceptionally smooth and authoritative was whispering in her ear. "Mm, good little girls generally don't ask such naughty questions."

Inuyasha gagged. "Once again, I have EARS, too."

Flushed to the tips of her toes, Kagome coughed.

Inuyasha flicked some grime off his chest, then, with a soft whoosh, jumped into a crouch next to the well.

"See ya," he said over his shoulder, looking almost scary with that odd smile on his face. "_Kagome_."

Miroku cleared his throat.

Inuyasha sighed in defeat and rose, turning to him. "And you—pox on your house."

Miroku grinned widely, extending his hand.

Inuyasha clasped it with an embarrassed little flush. He cleared his throat and said, in a stuffy, deliberately low voice, "Take care of, uh, _Shippou_. Because if you don't..."

Miroku pulled the hanyou into a brotherly embrace. "Inuyasha?"

"Un?" replied Inuyasha, slightly startled, trying to squirm away.

"I can," said Miroku pointedly.

Confused, Kagome looked from one to the other. "What?"

Inuyasha harrumphed, turning away. "We'll see, monk."

Kagome blinked. "Hey, what—"

"Later."

And then, Inuyasha was _gone_, and something inside Kagome felt very empty.

But that's where he belonged, and Kagome... Kagome belonged here. With—

"Miro-kun, seal it."

Miroku obeyed. Deathly serious, he stepped on the well's brim and dropped a thin piece of paper, watching it slowly drift down to the darkened bottom. After several minutes of quiet chanting, he opened his eyes (Kagome sucked in a breath), and looked at her.

"Done?" she asked, suddenly shy.

Miroku nodded. "Mh hmm. If we—what are you _doing_!"

Kagome jumped past him, shutting her eyes and enjoying this endless fall and almost _hoping_ the connection was still there. But her feet touched ground and nothing changed and a small smile chased across her features.

__

Over.

It was all over.

She took a deep, calming breath and—

—was knocked down.

"Ow. How do your knees not _hurt_?" asked Miroku, practically straddling her. He placed his hands on each side of her head, and brought his lips near hers. "Please don't expect me to jump in after you every time you snap and go crazy."

Kagome bit back a giggle, the clumps of dirt beneath her digging into her back. "I didn't expect you to jump _this_ time."

Miroku's eyes darkened. "Call it force of habit."

Kagome squirmed. "Um, about that—"

A horrible, high-pitched screech distracted her from finishing the sentence.

A hideous band of tailed demons was descending down the well, beady eyes fixed on Miroku and Kagome.

Kagome pushed Miroku off, and pressed him against the curved wall. "Climb!"

One of the smaller demons reached them first, sinking its tiny fangs into Kagome's ankle. She winced in pain and kicked at it. She was preparing to drop kick the thing into the next century, but was abruptly pulled up.

"Idiot," said Miroku, guiding her fingers around the rusty bars. "_You_ climb."

The rest of the demons plunged to the bottom of the well. A few twitched and sprang back up, snapping at their feet.

"Okay, how about we _both_ climb?" asked Kagome frantically as a particularly hyper demon headed for her head.

Miroku flung it off her. "Good idea," he grumbled, then pinched her hip. "GO."

So, Kagome did, wondering how it was _possible_ for ALL of them to forget about the hundreds of demons scattering over Tokyo.

__

Hundreds. _Of_. _Demons_.

"Aaa, why'd you seal the well!" she whined.

"Because you TOLD me to!"

"—nn, the hell were you _thinking_ about!"

"You!"

Kagome's throat went dry. "Oh."

They both paused, ignoring the demons around them.

"Miroku?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Miroku swatted at a tiny demon, banging his head against the ladder with a groan. "_Kagome_..."

"Please!" she pleaded. "One thing!"

"Just one."

"Why was Souta blackmailing you?"

Miroku looked around as if trying to convince himself he _wasn't_ hallucinating.

"Now? You want to know NOW?" he shouted bewilderedly. 

A demon slashed at their feet for emphasis.

Kagome glanced down stubbornly. "Yes! We might die! And I can't die without knowing two things!" she shouted, climbing higher.

"What's the second thing?" asked Miroku before he could process how incredibly _absurd_ the situation was.

"Um... sthntngue."

Miroku raised a curious eyebrow. "What?"

Once again, Kagome was reconsidering God's lack of benevolence. "That... thing... you do with... your... argh, you know!"

"Tongue?" smirked Miroku, looking ridiculously arrogant.

Flushed to the tips of her shivering toes, Kagome averted her eyes, muttering. "...not gonna need it... get my hands on scissors..."

Miroku paused, looking at her with a peculiar, unsettled expression. Finally, he sighed as though horribly defeated, then stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out a compact leathery thing, flashing it in front of her eyes, then quickly snapping it closed and sticking it back in his pocket.

Kagome squinted, dazed. 

She couldn't be positive (considering he'd practically _blinded_ her with that hasty little display), but it'd almost looked like... a picture... a picture of...

"Ah! I'm in your wallet?" she asked incredulously.

Miroku ignored her huffily, and Kagome could've sworn she'd seen his cheeks darken.

"Shyeah... no," he said, waving her off.

"No?"

"No."

"Can I see it again?"

"No."

They continued climbing in silence, slightly oblivious to the fact the demons weren't... around anymore.

Every so often, Miroku would freeze at the sound of Kagome's muffled giggles, turning to glare at her sharply. During one such incident, Kagome tugged at his pantleg.

"I have officially lost all respect for you," she giggled.

.

.

****

*

.

.

Miroku's heart felt inexplicably light.

"Excellent," he mused wickedly. "There's a chapter in the Kama Sutra that specifically prohibits respect." He glanced down at her, his hair tickling his flushed cheeks.

Kagome was staring at him with big blue eyes, lips parted and glistening and—

"Okay, this is officially not the time, Miro-kun!" 

Miroku hid a grin and continued climbing. "I concur," he hummed. "We should get on level ground first."

Kagome giggled. "Preferably near a mental institution."

Miroku paused, his pants oddly tight. "...that wasn't a no, was it."

Mortified, Kagome huffed, then climbed on ahead of him, muttering under her breath.

Miroku glanced up, cocking his head as her tiny little skirt bounced against her ass, her muscles stretching most pleasantly as she climbed. Suddenly upset, he reached out an arm and wrapped his fingers around her ankle, effectively stopping her progress.

"Kagome," he said.

Kagome froze.

"The thing about paradoxes," he began with a concerned frown, "is that nothing changes."

Warily, Kagome looked down at him, hands tightly wrapped around the rusted bars. "I know."

Miroku watched her for a moment, deep in thought. Slowly, his grip on her ankle loosened, and he said, in an almost flustered voice, "So. I want to make up for it."

Kagome blinked. "For... what?"

"For what I... did before."

__

'You _run_ _off_ _entirely_ _too_ _often_. _I_ _should_ _really_ _tie_ _you_ _up_.'

Miroku cringed.

__

'Running _off_ _in_ _your_ imagination _counts_, _too_, _Kagome_.'

Kagome gave him a look of pure innocence. "Um, you're going to have to be a little more specific, Miro-kun."

Miroku shut his eyes tightly, thumping his head on the well's mossy wall.

He'd planned on apologizing for something he'd done a _lifetime_ ago (though it felt like yesterday), but...

...slid his hand up her skirt instead.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Kagome was tense and blushing, but didn't attempt to move his fingers away. "F-for what, Miroku?"

"I haven't changed," he mumbled quietly. "I wanted to." _For you_. "But I couldn't."

Slowly, Kagome took a step down the ladder, then another, and one more, until she was staring him straight in the eye.

"I'm glad," was all she said.

Miroku's eyes widened.

__

'You _won't_ _tell_ _them_ _who_ _I_ _am_?'

__

'No.'

__

'Why?'

__

'Because _it_ _doesn't_ _matter_. _You're_ _you_.'

Quickly, his arms reached out to crush her against his chest and once she was pinned to him, they both—

—tumbled to the bottom of the well.

"Ow!" cried Kagome, rubbing her bruised shoulder. "Aaa, why'd you let go of the ladder, you idiot!" She tugged her top down to check on her injuries. "Great. I'll be the only girl wearing long sleeves in summer! And pants! And—_neeh_!"

"Stay still," he whispered against her shoulder, setting her between his legs.

"W-why?" asked Kagome, shivering. "Can you make the bruises go away or something?"

"Nope."

Kagome frowned, confused. "So... why... _oh_."

Miroku grinned, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. "You're _glad_?" he asked humbly, feeling oddly vulnerable.

"Mh hmm," nodded Kagome, flushing adorably. "Because then I don't have to feel guilty for doing—" she raised her hand slowly, "—this!"

Amused, Miroku rubbed his aching cheek, then watched her jump up and dust herself off, refusing to meet his eyes.

"So," he began, grabbing onto a bar and pushing off the ground, "will this be a _mutually_ sadomasochistic relationship, or—" here, he ducked, "—should I go look for Mitsuko-san?"

The dark outline of Kagome's shoulder was shaking.

Miroku took a wary step back.

"If the _demons_ don't kill you..." she ground out, wrapping her fingers around the first bar.

"Ah," sighed Miroku dramatically, "surely, you're not threatening my life, Ka-go-me." He sent her an intrigued side-glance. "After all, I've already died once and am not in a hurry to—"

Miroku's eyes widened as Kagome let go of her bar and—

—pressed herself against his back, placing her hands on each side of him.

"Why'd you let go?"

A deep, coiling greed lanced through him. "I didn't."

Kagome's soft breath washed over the back of his neck. "Yes, you did."

Miroku carefully extracted himself from her embrace, then climbed higher. "Didn't."

Looking hurt, Kagome idly followed after him, brushing her knuckles against his calves every so often. "You let go, Miroku," she whispered eventually.

Miroku paused at the lip of the well, sunshine flickering through the rubble.

His features softened as he looked down. "I'm _here_, aren't I?"

And then he was out of the well, stretching out his arm to pull her out. He could feel himself being on the brink, brimming, teeming, ready to fall in and spill over from leaning in and out. And as her face came closer to his and her legs swung over the edge of the well, he...

"Do you have any idea how much I hated you?" they asked at the same time.

Miroku blinked. "Wait, what—_you_ hated _me_?"

Equally puzzled, Kagome scowled. "_I _had good reason to!" she screeched. "What's YOUR excuse!"

Suddenly feeling a hundred pounds lighter, Miroku grinned. "I asked first."

"Technically, we asked at the same time—"

"I'll flip you for it."

Kagome gave a deep, suffering sigh. "Tails."

Miroku reached into his back pocket, searching for a coin. Casually, he tossed it into the air, then caught it against the back of his hand. "Ah, I'm afraid I win."

Kagome's eyes narrowed skeptically. "You cheated."

"Possibly."

Exasperated, Kagome plopped to the ground, rubbing her eyes.

"For lying to me," she mumbled. 

"I didn't lie to you."

Kagome ignored him. "It was so... hard trying to remember your promise." She looked up, a small frown marring her face. "Why did you make it if you couldn't keep it?"

Upset and oddly flustered, Miroku put some distance between them.

"I kept it," he murmured.

Slowly, Kagome stood up. "Not by choice."

Miroku turned around angrily. "No, not by choice!" he shouted, trying to calm down. "I had no choice. I _had_ to _know_ about you while thinking you didn't exist. I _had_ to keep away from you once I actually found you again. I _had_ to watch you prattle on about how wonderful and kind and great Inuyasha was. I _had_ to be around you while you were completely oblivious and indifferent and stupid. I _had_ to WAIT for you to come to your senses. I _had_ to—"

"I was never indifferent," interrupted Kagome softly.

Miroku lost his train of thought.

Cautiously, Kagome took a step toward him. "So, you hated me for... not knowing?"

Miroku glanced away, looking prim. "Apparently."

Kagome was silent for a moment, then—

—threw a burnt piece of wood at him.

"THAT'S THE STUPIDEST REASON, EVER!"

Miroku ducked. "What are you talking about? It's a perfectly—"

"So I didn't know!" she shouted, throwing more debris his way. "Big deal! It's not like YOU knew anything about _me_. You never asked me any questions. You never asked, 'Hey, Kagome, what's your favorite color?', or 'Hey, Kagome, do you mind if I get reincarnated and cause a million billion problems for you?' or—"

"Purple."

Kagome gaped. "W-what?"

"Your favorite color's purple."

Kagome blinked. "Well, yeah, but—"

Miroku shrugged. "I asked Souta."

Kagome's features softened considerably. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to know."

"Why?"

"WHY?" asked Miroku incredulously. "What do you mean, _why_? How many cursed monks do you see going around asking about other people's eccentricities? I was sorta focused on, you know, _dying_. I'm not anymore." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "At this point, I probably know more about you than you do."

Kagome was watching him with an odd, almost dark look. "I suppose it's only fair. After all, I know more about _you_ than you do."

Miroku couldn't help it. He laughed.

"It's not funny," grumbled Kagome. "This is as dysfunctional as it gets."

"True," agreed Miroku. "Considering you did have a thing for my grandfather..."

Kagome twitched. "Miroku..."

"Yes, Kagome?"

"I—_ow_!"

Miroku was by her side in an instant. "What happened?"

Kagome gave a soft whine, thrusting her palm out. "I was going to hit you with that big stick over there, but... splinter."

Miroku bit back a grin, cradling her hand in his. "Buddha doesn't approve of violence. You should take this as a sign, Ka-go-me~."

"Miro-k—" began Kagome huffily as Miroku raised her palm to his lips, "—_ee_."

He placed a quick kiss on her finger, then tugged the tiny little sliver out. "You're welcome."

Kagome swayed dangerously.

A wicked grin spread across Miroku's lips. "Oh, by the way," he hummed pleasantly, pressing against her. "Does my voice still make you—"

"Shut up," squirmed Kagome, trying to pry his fingers off. "I—"

And then she was gone, pulled away from him and onto the blackened ground. 

Pulse racing, Miroku tried to focus his eyes on the sudden upsweeping of dust and ash, and saw—

—a demon, shapeless and slow, hovering over—

"Kagome!"

And suddenly, every single cell in his body seemed to melt and sever and there was only one thought rushing through his head.

__

She's not moving.

The demon's head—soggy and deformed—snapped up, its forked tongue hissing at Miroku.

"Get. Away. From. Her," he gritted out with sheer, mindless primality.

The demon swished its tail.

The wooden pillars supporting the wrecked doorway wobbled, cracked, and finally caved in, but Miroku didn't notice.

Because Kagome was still not moving.

A few more tiny demons trickled in, and Miroku could almost hear his blood circulating, his heart racing, his muscles stretching under a myriad of emotions until one surfaced, propelling him into action. A surge of Houriki slithered through his body, wrapping its warm edges around him, coiling him into a tremendous spiral of strength and—

—the demon disintegrated.

Miroku grimaced, breaths short and shallow. His eyes stung a little and his skin felt heavier and why wasn't Kagome _moving_?

Drained, Miroku dropped to his knees next to her, palms flat against the charred ground. "In our next life, you better be a ballerina, Kagome."

Nothing.

"_Kagome_."

He wouldn't be sure later what exactly happened, but as Kagome's chest finally rose and her lips parted with a small sigh, a piece of him—one he'd carried for almost forty years—melted away, washing away the fear and pushing him over some hidden little cliff—

"What—what's going on?" she asked delicately, eyes fluttering open, long lashes brushing her cheeks.

Miroku wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to help her up, but—

"Don't—don't touch me!" she cried out, scrambling away from him.

Horrified, Miroku could only stare at her. "Kagome, what—"

"Who am I?" 

Miroku blinked.

"W-who am I?" She was looking around timidly, her blue eyes huge and fearful. "_Where_ am I? I—I don't—"

Miroku froze, color draining from his face.

"Kagome. You're _Kagome_," he murmured desperately. Because she couldn't—couldn't _not_ _remember_ everything, _not_ _now_, not when—

"A-and who are you?" she asked nervously, scooting away as he advanced on her, his pulse racing.

__

No.

Not after everything—

"You can't remember—?" he began frantically, soul laden with frustration and anger, thumb caressing the cut on her cheek.

__

Fuck.

She couldn't do this to him. She couldn't _forget_. She couldn't be—

A small, pretty smile was playing about her lips.

—serious.

"That's not funny, Kagome!" he shouted, crushing her to his chest.

Kagome giggled into his shirt, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. "_I_ thought it was, Miro-kun."

An incredulous laugh was building up in his chest, relief washing over him in waves. "Toying with my sanity like that—"

"—what goes around—_mmh_!"

Her lips were soft against his, tasting like tears and—

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*

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—ash.

And her heart kept swelling until it hurt to breathe.

She pulled away, still smiling. He tugged her closer and she thought that perhaps getting knocked around by a demon or fifty wasn't _so_ very horrible if it drew such a reaction from...

"Miroku," she was going to say, but gasped instead.

__

Thank you for trying.

Kagome closed her eyes, Kikyou's soft voice still lingering within her.

And then, the borrowed fragment of her soul came back to her in a whisper, flaking off a thin layer of frost around her heart.

"Kagome?" asked Miroku worriedly, feeling her forehead. "Are you—"

"Perfectly fine," she replied guiltily, averting her eyes. "Miroku, I—"

"OY!" came a chorus of frantic voices.

Miroku looked up, frowning. "Remind me again why we sent Inuyasha back?"

Kagome followed his line of vision and saw—

Chaos.

Demons, of all shapes and sizes, were rampaging through the shrine and the streets surrounding it, munching on trees and cars. Several small fires were raging off to the side, and Kagome could've sworn that van careening down the alley belonged to the local news crew. Yuka and Erri seemed to be... playing with a tiny serpent demon, while Hojou and Ayumi guided a couple of kids into the nearest house.

Slowly, Kagome lifted her gaze to Miroku.

He was standing next to her, watching the scene with a solemn expression. His cheeks were smudged with dirt and ashes and crisscrossed with tiny little scratches. His uniform was torn and the white shirt underneath was bloody.

Quietly, Kagome slipped her hand in his, looking at the ground.

Miroku twitched, surprised. 

And then he smiled, and wrapped his fingers around hers, still looking straight ahead.

Awkwardly, Kagome bit her lip.

Naraku was dead.

And she was alive.

So was Miroku.

__

DAMN _IT_.

She had so not planned for... that.

"Um," she said finally, "my mother's not going to approve, you know." She gave a mournful little sniffle. "You are, after all, really _old_."

"Ah," replied Miroku, equally saddened. "I suppose I shall just have to console myself with a modest harem."

Kagome kicked him. "Eunuchs don't need harems."

Miroku kissed her, laughing against her lips, hands cupping her face.

"Hey, that's really nice and everything," shouted Yuka frantically, brandishing a pointy branch, "but there's a _demon_ on the loose!" 

"Um... twelve... HUNDRED of them," supplied Ayumi, throwing her math book at a hissing demon.

"And they're really uuuugly!" whined Erri, wiping blood and guts from her shiny shoes with her expensive little handkerchief.

"Oooh, she is _so_ dead if she doesn't stop kissing that guy and come help us right n—_oooww_, Hojou-_kun_!" wailed Yuka, rubbing her head. 

"Oh, um, I'm sorry!" said Hojou sheepishly, eyes shut tightly in apology. "I was aiming for the demon."

Ayumi and Erri flew into a rage, whacking the boy with their weapons of choice.

"Think we should, you know... help?" asked Miroku softly, gaze slipping to her lips again.

Kagome watched him for a moment, distracted by his pretty cheekbones.

"Eight second rule, Kagome," he whispered against her lips, fingers weaving through her tangled hair. 

"Miroku..." she began softly, heat pooling deep inside her. "I—"

"I know," he murmured, brushing his lips across the corner of hers. "Me, too."

Kagome's fingers splayed over his chest as she looked down. "Do you still—"

"Yes."

Kagome frowned, grabbing a handful of his dirty shirt. "You don't know what I was going to ask, you jerk!"

"Of course I do," he said lightly, sliding his fingers lower and hooking them around the waistband of her skirt. "You were going to ask if I noticed you weren't wearing a bra. And yes. Yes, I did."

__

Smack!

"It's been a while," he said cheerfully, _familiarly_, rubbing his cheek, "I forgot how hard you hit."

Kagome's eyes were overly bright.

"Tomorrow..." she whispered uncertainly.

Miroku blinked.

"You—you're going to be here tomorrow?" she asked quietly.

Miroku's features softened.

"I don't know," he murmured gravely. "Will you be wearing a bra?"

A demon flew by, crashing into a brick wall.

Kagome huffed, poking Miroku's stupid chest. "I'm _so_ going to date Hojou-kun when he wakes up! Well, IF he wakes up..."

And that's when it happened. Miroku tensed, tangled his fingers with hers, and looked at her—really looked at her—with an incredibly miserable, jaded, _uncertain_ look. "Will _you_?"

Kagome's heart sped up. "Miroku?"

Yuka shrieked somewhere in the distance. 

Miroku tilted his head slightly, eyebrow cocked. "Will _you_ be here tomorrow?"

"Unh..." whispered Kagome, arching into him and hoping she never woke up. "Yes."

"Great!" he said, pushing her away and grinning. "Because guess what," here, his grin grew, curling his lips most attractively, "you're on time for finals."

"Aiee!" yelped Kagome, extending a mournful hand toward the wrecked well. "Okay, then! I think I can dig that thing out—so! I'll be back in a week or so, Miro-k—"

Abruptly, Miroku grabbed her hand, the blood on it as dry as his, and shook his head with a satisfied, predatory grin. "I don't think so, Ka-go-me." He pulled her closer, voice lowering to a possessive murmur. "I get to keep you, remember?"

And then he was off, running toward the demons, his torn shirt fluttering against his tanned back.

Kagome's heart ached with joy.

"Yeah," she smiled softly, then chased after him. "I remember."

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The End

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Author: Whee, cavities! Let's write more smut now, yes, yes!

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Plot: Bitch. I need to see my dentist first.

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And now, seriously, 'cause I did promise—

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Acknowledgements: First of all, to Mireille for keeping me sane and, y'know... completely distracted from finishing this.

    1. Oh, Naraku, please forgive me! I wanted you to quit your Evil Overlord thing and make shampoo commercials and feed starving children, but... wah!
    2. Many many thanks to Rurouni Star, psycho pixie, Horridporrid, and Landlady, for writing my favorite M/K stories, EVER.
    3. Many many thanks for all your reviews. I have this thing where I'm not very good with compliments. So, answering everyone individually would be, um, painful. But thank you for reading!
    4. Speaking of, I'm sure if you've read this whole thing carefully, all of your questions were answered. If not, um... were you distracted by Sesshoumaru, or Kouga? Or both, heathens? ^_^;
    5. Megami-sama has created a Miroku/Kagome group. You can find it here: groups . yahoo . com / group / monkandmiko

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And to everyone else: yo, lazy bastards—stop reading this, and go _write_ M/K stories!


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